The street in shadows. The high houses hide
the dying sun; there are echoes of light in balconies.
Can’t you see, in the charm of the flowery oriel,
The pink oval of a familiar face?
The image, behind the glass of vague reflection,
emerges or dissipates like an old daguerreotype.
The only sound in the street is the noise of you walking by;
the echoes of twilight slowly fade away.
Oh, anguish! The heart weighs heavy and hurts… Is it her?
It cannot be… Walk on…. In the blue, the star.