Translation:The Languid Lemon Tree Suspends

The languid lemon tree suspends, a pale and dusty branch, over the charm of the clear spring, and over there, dreaming in the depths, the fruits of gold... It’s a clear afternoon, almost like spring, a mild March afternoon, brought by the gentle breeze of an approaching April; and I am alone, on the dark patio, looking for an old and candid illusion: some shade over the white wall, some memory, on the stone parapet of the sleeping spring, or, in the air, some wandering of a light tunic. In the afternoon ambience floats that aroma of absence, that says to the luminous soul: never, and to the heart: hope. That aroma which evokes the ghosts of virginal and dead fragrances. Yes, I remember you, O cheerful and bright afternoon, almost like spring afternoon without flowers, when you brought me the good perfume of the mint, and of the pleasant basil, that my mother had in her flowerpots. That you saw me bury my pure hands in the serene water, to reach those charming fruits that now lie dreaming in the depths of the fountain... Yes, I know you, O cheerful and bright afternoon, almost like spring.