Yesterday, when you spoke, I heard you

too pleased, almost inebriated —

in an ecstasy of aromas and harmony

that I feel when I am, flower, at your side.

Your voice possesses certain magic

and it possesses such rare predicate,

that attracts, and ties, and enchants, and caresses

in a such way that I am enslaved.

Owner of the brilliant glance and of the sweet voice.

Hearing your voice my soul was enslaved

and went mad, staring your glance.

And today, that glance and that cadenced voice

they give me suffering, of you now absent,