Villages to the horizons, extends the field from our maternity;
Spring has just arrived.
The light veil of snow is not enough any more to cover our fertilized nudity.
Thus return towards us, ô ploughmen!
The mornings are already scented scents of April;
The brooks chirp with the cast iron of the ices,
And of our hot side already the Narcisse germinated.
Thus return! your handles abounding in seeds,
We await them with the discrete desire of the women;
The ray of the sun was already inserted, in our hearts.
It is according to the sweat which you will have poured
That will inflate the reddish ears; how much sharp will be our pleasure,
When the soc.se puts to crush our centres.