The radiant fruit of gold
Shimmers, swaying in the shadows,
Gleaming between the rustling leaves,
A waiting treasure, long foretold.
It has grown ripe only for you,
Lovely and savouring of paradise,
For what rose could rival its fairness?

Veiled by their wings,
The sleeping angels dream…

And now the night has come,
Not one star rises in the sky;
Oh! nothing
But the lightest touch
Of your lips…
Who could see?
The mild evening breezes caress it as well.

Hear as my song
Whispers in your ear,
Draw near and gather.
The angels drift in their dreams…