Thankful retirement that attracts and ties me!

Beautiful retreat, flowery stoppage!

I like to hear, in the lurid foliage,

sweet songs, that the wind shakes and ascends.

Its cascade murmurs, laughing,

of the harmonies limpid treasure.

Ah, what pleasure I feel hearing her there,

in the afternoon, when the sun has rays of gold!

I stare the fall of the scintillant waters,

enameled of sunshine to the decline

and I think to see falling of diamonds

a torrent of the height to the shallow soil.

There there are smart songs of the birds,

close in the jungle a party rumor.

In a virent fence in deep trills,

sobs a mockingbird, Poe of the forest.

That rough and slanting rocks,

that the moss adorns in lurid works,

already saw, by certain, fugitive Ipeca,

as wandering flower seeing the other flowers.

Meanders of water run in the greenness,

under the carpet in some secret adits;

they dance over, full of purety,

groups of butterflies, unquiet.

You are, beautiful and perfumed environment,

inviting to the Naiads and the Nymphs

of nude bosoms to wake up us the pleasure

in golden skiffs over the surface of the lymphs.

The rude flute here well would sound,

still better the impassioned shepherd´s flute.

Here the artist's soul became ecstasied,

without the atrocious torture of a single suffering.

In May you have smiling bloom,

floral sprouts, life palpitations;

in May wanders in you sweeter essence