Melancholy and sweet the footprint
That a western sun leaves in the blue
When it bathes in the distances the spaces
With the last rays of its light
While the night lays out over the heavens
The mysterious [tulle](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tulle_netting) of half-light.
Smooth like the song that the poet
In an involuntary sigh gives,
Pure like the half-opened flowers
Of the jungle in the wild darkness
Trapped in the mossy branches
Not a single beam of sunlight filters through.
Woman, totally pasionate woman, chaste
Lit with the light of the ideal...
Radiant with virtue and beauty
Like in my soul I came to dream,
In her dreams of open tenderness
Will she find it thus?