A vapour seems to hide your face from view;
Your mystic eye (is it green, grey, or blue?)
Tender by turns, dreamy or merciless,
Reflects the heavens' pallid indolence.
You call to mind white, mild, enshrouded days
That make enchanted hearts dissolve away,
When, agitated by a twisting ache,
The taut nerves call the spirit to awake.
Sometimes you're like horizons set aglow
By suns in rainy seasons here below...
Like you superb, a watery countryside
That rays enflame out of a misty sky!
O weather! woman! - both seduce me so!
Will I adore as well your frost and snow,
And will I draw from winter's ruthless vice
Pleasures more keen than iron or than ice?
Přeložil James McGowan