Sister, fair one, don’t go into the mountains:
they deceived me,
they had nothing to offer my longing.
As a souvenir I broke a branch off the fir
which shaded the road, as lush as a spring bush,
and I sought back to the ocean in my old tracks.
A thousand playthings have the ocean crushed and thrown up on the sand –
in vain I search for some jewelry that can give shine to my beauty.
Come, sit by me, I shall tell you of my sorrows,
we shall speak to each other about secrets.
You shall show me your beauty and your gaze
and I shall offer you my silence and my habit of listening.