TRANSLATION.
Come, Aurore,
I implore,
I am glad when thou art breaking.
That sweet cheek
Whose smiles I seek,
Is vermillion like thy waking.
Bathed and fair
With dew and air,
Yon fresh rose has less of brightness;
And less fine
Is the ermine,
While the milk has less of whiteness.
To rejoice
In her soft voice,
Leave they yonder hamlet lonely;
And the swain
Neglects his strain,
Listening to her music only.
She is fair
Beyond compare,—
You may span her waist so slender;
Like a star
Her soft eyes are,
Opening in its morning splendour.
When none heed her,
Hebe feeds her
With such balm as heaven consumeth;
And her mouth,
Like the sweet south,
With one fragrant touch perfumeth.
