My soul flows in your music,
The Forest sleeps,
Rendered to the nostalgia of the lakes of the sky.
How to forget that I am a hidden melody,
And your severe voice is the penumbra of mysteries?
I have interrogated the air and the shades,
I've listened to sad fountains lost in the silence,
And everything elevates my dreams to celestial music.
I go with the spring that visits you at night,
That gives life to flowers in your blue shades
And they reveal to me the vague suffering of your secrets.
The soporific lights of you are slow astronomy
That turns in my whisper of foliage in the wind
And gives wings to the sighs of the souls you hide.
The hunter died here, at the foot of the orchids,
Was he nostalgic by your magic?
Oh, forest: you who know how to live in solitude
Where do the deep sighs go at night?