You come to me, smiling and moist, Speaking to me tender words in a tongue I know not, Your country's tongue. In your limpid gaze I saw the birth of distant loves.

Tell me – the bursting sun of your skies – Does it fire the unknown ardors of your senses? Searing like holy flames before the altar In love's temples where hearts languish?

Tell me – the lukewarm Night, sly schemer, Whose bosom quivers with myriad stars, Does she intoxicate your pure soul with peerless caresses, Keeps she the troubling secret in her veil?

You speak to me … The words, like from a blossoming flower, Fly from your mouth towards the light of day. I have understood your language – and from your pink lips I draw, drunk, the poison of love.