Helen, in the virgin shadows and the

impassive radiance in astral silence,

ornamental saps conspired.

Summer’s ardour was confided

to silent birds and due indolence

to a priceless mourning boat

through gulfs of dead loves

and fallen perfumes.

-After the moment of the woods women’s song

to the rumble of the torrent in the ruin of the wood,

of the tinkle of the cowbells to the echo of the vales,

and the cries of the steppes.

– For Helen’s childhood, furs and shadows trembled,

and the breast of the poor and the legends of heaven.

And her eyes and her dance superior

even to the precious radiance,

to cold influences, to the pleasure of the unique

setting and the unique hour.