"Oh you from whom my thoughts come,
Be proud before the Lord!
Raise your lowered head,
Oh you from whom my happiness comes!
When I cross this league
Who separates us, in the heart of the nights,
Your starry and blue homeland
Shine to my dazzled eyes.
It is the hour when a hundred lamps are burning
Shine on the celestial ceilings;
The hour when the stars and souls
They exchange deep glances.
I then probe your destiny,
I think of you, who come from heaven,
To you, great imprisoned soul,
To you, big mysterious heart!
Noble woman, enslaved queen,
I dream of this envious fate
Who puts so much shadow in your life,
So much light in your eyes
I know you completely
And I contemplate you on your knees;
But around so much light
Why so much shadow, oh jealous fate?
God gave him everything except alms.
That he does to all in his goodness;
The sky that owed him a throne
He was denied freedom.
Yes, your wing, that the grove,
That the joyful air calls in vain,
Breaks on the bars of a cage,
Poor great soul, divine bird!
Beautiful angel, a yoke holds you captive,
A hundred prejudices are your prison,
And your thoughtful attitude,
Alas, sadden your house.
You feel taken by the world
Who spies on you, unjust and bad.
In your deep bitterness
You often say: if I could!
But love in secret gives you
What is pure and beautiful in it,
And his invisible crown,
And his invisible torch!
Torch that hides at will,
Which shines, splendid and clandestine,
And who does not illuminate life
That inside of destiny.
Love gives you, oh sweet woman,
These pleasures where nothing is bitter,
And those looks where the whole soul
Appears in a single flash,
And the smile, and the caress,
The furtive and charming interview,
And the melancholic intoxication
Of an ineffable outpouring,
And the cherished features of a face,
Shadow that we love and that follows you,
That we see the day in the cloud,
That we see in the dream at night,
And the solitary ecstasies,
When we both sit down
Under the branches full of mysteries
Deep in the woods full of rays;
Pure transports that the crowd ignores,
And who make us have happy days
As long as we can still hope
What we always remember.
Go, dry your beautiful crying eye,
Your fate is not disinherited.
Your part is still the best,
Don't complain, oh my beauty!
What is missing is very little.
When it is the red spring,
And when we live like the rose
Of perfumes, shade and sun.
Leave it, oh my sweet muse,
Without regretting it for a single day,
What fate denies you
For what love gives you!"
