It is the time when the dead rise
While the world of the living sleeps,
In which the soul abandons the fragile body
And dreams of that which is holy and that which is infinite.
The moon pours out silver-plated rays
That reflect the waves in the river
And that illuminate, with its vague dyes
The frightful remains of a Castle.
Everything is silence there, though at another time
There was bustling and enthusiastic happiness...
But look! They are vaporous shadows
Those that in the dark forest slide.
Oh! Don't fear, they're not frightening
Ghosts of other times — they are water spirits;
Look at how they embrace and confuse
How swift they turn through the air,
They barely touch with a lithe foot
The soft-surfaced meadow.
They're advancing...spinning in the denseness
Or submerging themselves in the pure waves;
And to the time of music like a distant chorde that
A lyre makes
They rise up, pushed by the light
Breeze that caresses their hair...
But be quiet...with its first dyes
The new day illuminates the horizon
And the shadows disappear on erasing themselves
From the forest among the humid mists.