Memory, memory, what do you want from me? I remember
Autumn made the thrush fly through the lifeless air,
And the sun launched a monotonous ray where
The north wind exploded in a wood growing yellower.
We were alone together and, dreaming, wandered,
She and I, our hair and our thoughts in the wind.
Suddenly, her gaze full of feeling, she turned:
“What was your happiest day?” Her gold voice, livened,
Her soft resonant voice, cool timbre of an angel.
My reply was a reserved smile,
And devoutly I kissed her white hand.
—Ah, the first flowers and their perfume!
And the murmuring spell of the sound,
The first yes from those lips when you so love them!