A prayer to Mother Mary is carried by the air with the sound of a bell. 
Venus arises pure and lonely from the far-away forest. 
Oh! How the prayers spread peace all around! 
The swallow returns to its nest and quietly settles to sleep. 
A slow sound of thousands of different voices remains. 
Perhaps between the flowers and the hedges,
The breeze tells stories of magic. 
Who knows how many thoughts are in these whispers of gratitude! 
The breeze sings and has passed over the cemeteries and gardens. 

Prayer to Mother Mary, how sweet are you in the heart of evening? 
Do you know that in the torments of love, prayer is sincere? 
And I have turned my fixed, damp gaze to heaven and soul: 
“Return to me, I pray you, return to me my smile. 
Return to me my calm!”