It's time to let desire implore and persuade…
The world is as loving as a serenade,
And the late night air has the languor of a serenade.

The workers of the night, your magical amis,
Have woven with golden thread the robes of Saamis,
And sown from blue irises the fabric of Saamis.

It seems to me, we together were thrown
From another time unknown that was once our own,
From a pompous and tragic time that was once our own.

On my lips persists a charming souvenir…
Who's to say? I was maybe your dear…
Oh, what splendor! I was once your dear…

The shadow of chagrin cruelly persists,
Eroding still our tongue of Florence…
Ah! your smile, haughty as a Dame of Florence!

This memory is more tenacious than starlight…
The soul of a smitten page lives again in me tonight,
Of a page who sings under your balcony, tonight.