The Fountain

My poor mistress! your lovely eyes 

Are tired, leave them closed and keep 

For long the nonchalant pose 

In which pleasure surprised you. 

In the court the bubbling fountain 

That's never silent night or day 

Sweetly sustains the ecstasy 

Into which love plunged me tonight.

The sheaf unfolds into

Countless flowers

In which joyful Phoebe

Puts her colors:

It drops like a shower

Of heavy tears.

Thus your soul which is set ablaze 

By the burning flash of pleasure 

Springs heavenward, fearless and swift, 

Toward the boundless, enchanted skies. 

And then it overflows, dying 

In a wave of languid sadness 

That by an invisible slope 

Descends to the depths of my heart.

The sheaf unfolds into

Countless flowers

In which joyful Phoebe

Puts her colors:

It drops like a shower

Of heavy tears.

Oh you whom the night makes so fair, 

How sweet, bending over your breast, 

To listen to the endless plaint 

Of the sobbing of the fountains! 

Moon, singing water, blessed night, 

Trees that quiver round about us, 

Your innocent melancholy 

Is the mirror of my love.

The sheaf unfolds into

Countless flowers

In which joyful Phoebe

Puts her colors:

It drops like a shower

Of heavy tears.