All at once, as if in play,
Mademoiselle, she who moots
a wish to hear how it sounds today
the wood of my several flutes

It seems to me that this foray
tried out here in a country place
was better when I put them away
to look more closely at your face

Yet this vain whistling I suppress
in so far as I can create
given my fingers pure distress
lacking the means to imitate

Your very natural and clear
childlike laughter that charms the ear