Stops, suddenly, the limpid harmony

of the birds and the fowls, in the forest,

they listen the most thankful symphony,

that to their ears runs, manifest.

Smiles the wood, in feast roars,

at the sound of that harping which inebriates;

and birds, and dawn, and flowers — all renders

ear to the same notes that I was hearing.

— What consonance is this so sonorous,

they interrogate me flower, birds and dawn,

that to our ear does bring so much sweetness?

— And I, as if enjoyed eminent grace:

The music that to your ear passes

it is her name that she herself said.