The Muse is mute, with blushing virgin cheeks
She bows her head, and modestly draws near.
She takes a step to hear you speak a word;
She hopes, but never looks ahead with fear.
Not those whose eyes are drawn to golden things,
She longs for praise from those who cherish truth;
The ones whose hearts yearn for untainted things
Are worthy enough to behold her crowned.
One day, our divine songs must fade away,
Except when chanted by impassioned hearts,
Inspired by missions nobler than before,
Heralding new and brighter visions.
Over the years their dulcet strains may fade,
As echoes fade when sounding from some height.
They rise from some impassioned heart and soar,
Then hours flee and the songs must take their flight.
When spring returns and meadows blossom forth,
Stirred by the passion of ecstatic longing,
The winds will resound with their melody,
The air perfumed by rose and daffodil.
The young and old will once again emerge,
Rejoicing at the sight and sounds they hear.
The springtime flees! Its seeds transform to blooms,
And all that’s come must once again return.
Translation © David B. Gosselin