Gently, the ocean waves
sing their eternal dirge
and softly the humid spring night
enfolds me. My soul
searches for you.

Oh come, sweet flock of girls!
I want to drink of your beauty.
Give your wild hair to the wind,
and drop your raiments
silently.

My pale child, give me your mouth, and feed
my own mad fires. How cool
your red lips are. You havn't learned how love
feels yet.

And you, with your thick mane of red-gold curls
flowing almost to your heels,
like waves of flame,
show me the fires that glitter and flicker
from your eyes. You must not leave me,
for your are as beautiful
as the glowing sun.

And you two shy and slender sisters
as pale as moonlight,
with your quiet heartache
and your silent pangs of love.

With your limbs' marble splendour
shining white as the waves' glimmering foam,
and your hair in the night,
you are more silent
than a dream.

Oh bouquet of blossoms! Oh, flock of girls!
I want to drink of your beauty.
Give your wild hair to the wind,
and drop your raiments
silently.