I love the greenish light of your long eyes,

 I like die greenish light in your long eyes,

Sweet beauty, but today all to me is bitter;

Dear: but today all things are sour to me.

Nothing, neither your love, your boudoir, nor your hearth

And naught, your hearth, your boudoir, nor your sighs

Is worth as much as the sunlight on the sea.

Are worth the sun that glitters on the sea.

Yet, love me, tender heart! be a mother,

Yet love me, tender heart, as mothers cherish

Even to an ingrate, even to a scapegrace;

A thankless wretch, Lover or sister, be

Mistress or sister, be the fleeting sweetness

Ephemeral sweetness of the suns that perish

Of a gorgeous autumn or of a setting sun.

Or glory of the autumn swift to flee.

Short task! The tomb awaits; it is avid!

Brief task! The charnel yawns in hunger horrid,

Ah! let me, with my head bowed on your knees,

Yet let me with my head upon your knees,

Taste the sweet, yellow rays of the end of autumn,

Although I mourn the summer, white and torrid

While I mourn for the white, torrid summer!

Taste these last yellow rays before they freeze.