The moon relinquished sharp-edge cliffs at sea line,
And with transparent gold: the waters shine;
On board of their pointed boat, this evening
The friends enjoy their heated glass of wine.

When looking at the clouds passing swiftly
Through the reflection of the moonlight post;
Some of the friends will find those clouds closely
Resembling the holy women’s ghosts.

Another group imagine those clouds
As heaven bound souls of pious men;
The third of friends insist without doubts,
The clouds resemble caravan of swans.