The white moon shines in the forest,
From every branch comes forth a voice,
Under the foliage.
The pond, a deep mirror, reflects
The silhouette of the dark willow,
Where the wind cries.
Let’s dream, ’tis the hour!
A vast and tender calm
Seems to descend from the firmament,
Iridescent with stars;
‘Tis the exquisite hour!
He brought me to the banqueting house of wine, and his banner over me was love. (Song of Solomon 2:4)