Through the happiness of twilight,
Who is it who sighs, what is the lament?
Who has come to rest against my heart,
Like a wounded bird?

Is it a plaint of the earth?
Is it a future voice,
A voice from the past?
To the point of anguish, I hear
That sound in the silence.

Island of forgetfulness, o Paradise!
What cry rends tonight,
Your voice that cradles me?
What cry pierces
Your bright circlet of flowers,
And tears your lovely veil of mirth?