Des jardins de la nuit s'envolent les étoiles,
Abeilles d'or qu'attire un invisible miel,
Et l'aube, au loin tendant la candeur de ses toiles,
Trame de fils d'argent le manteau bleu du ciel.
Du jardin de mon cur qu'un rêve lent enivre
S'envolent mes désirs sur les pas du matin,
Comme un essaim léger qu'à l'horizon de cuivre
Appelle un chant plaintif, éternel et lointain.
Ils volent à tes pieds, astres chassés des nues,
Éxilé du ciel d'or où fleurit ta beauté
Et, cherchant jusqu'à toi des routes inconnues,
Mêlent au jour naissant leur mourante clarté.
From the gardens of night the stars fly away,
like golden bees which an invisible honey lures,
and the dawn, afar, stretching the innocence of its cloths,
laces the blue mantle of the sky with threads of silver.
From the garden of my heart that a slow dream intoxicates
my desires fly away on the footsteps of morning,
like a light swarm which, on the copper horizon,
a plaintive song calls, eternal and distant.
They fly to your feet, stars chased by the clouds,
exiled from the golden sky where your beauty flowers
and, searching for unknown routes leading to you,
mix their fading brilliance into the dawning day.
© translated by Christopher Goldsack
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