If your eyes were not the colour of the moon, 
the colour of the day with clay, with toil, with fire,
if you had not the litheness of breezes, even imprisioned,
if you were not a week of amber,

if you were not the yellow moment
in which the autumn rises through the thicket
and if you were not still the bread baked 
by the sweet moon sprinkling flour about the sky,

o beloved, I would not love you!
In your embrace I embrace what exists,
sand, time, tree and rain,

and everything lives so that I may live:
without wondering far I can see it all:
I see in your life all that which is alive.