As when, silently, to surprise,
You throw violets in his eyes...
As when you rock an acacia tree,
And scent, like dawning light,
Falls on white piano keys
Together with petals white...
As when she stands at the porch
And into her hair the distant moon weaves
Itself, placing her brow in a glowing wreath
Or garlands it with silver sheaves...
As when idle talk with her is like a swallows' flight
Having its course yet straying everywhere, A sign of looming thunder
Before lightning precedes the tremor
...but I say nothing in sorrow.