THE FLOWERING TREE

Against the blue of the sky —the sky so clean
that seems to be washed by the hands of God—
How well the tree looks , softly inclined
under the rosy weight of his flowering branches!

I see him leaning his forehead on the white panes
of the window; and he reminds me,
all full of flowers, butterflies and trills,
of a small poem he used to recite...

Who knows of the things the moon tells him
when she comes at night to talk with him!
Many a time I’ve seen him ecstatic listening to her
strangely peaceable until dawn comes...

And the breeze no longer runs naked through the fields!
He, every morning, when he sees her walk by,
throws such a pretty satin cape
over her shoulder, in a gentle gesture.

We have been, for some time, the best of friends!
And I, who never tell anybody of my secret love,
have let his soul come near to my lips...
and have given everything to the good, flowering tree!