1. The gardens of Gueygue still ailing,
Where the red of flowers borders the white.

2. Its camphor opposes us, all radiant,
When the morning breeze passes by it fluttering.

3. Near twisted trees made use there
Are revelers urged on by brimming cups.

4. When the blue water-lilies bloom above,
Their eyelids open or shut.

5. You’d think gilded stars followed each other
One by one, two by two, in a scattered sky.