Your soul is like a landscape fantasy, Where masks and Bergamasks, in charming wise, Strum lutes and dance, just a bit sad to be Hidden beneath their fanciful disguise.

Singing in minor mode of life's largesse And all-victorious love, they yet seem quite Reluctant to believe their happiness, And their song mingles with the pale moonlight,

The calm, pale moonlight, whose sad beauty, beaming, Sets the birds softly dreaming in the trees, And makes the marbled fountains, gushing, streaming-- Slender jet-fountains--sob their ecstasies.

Translated from the French by Norman R. Shapiro. You can read it in the original French here

Notes: This poem, "Claire de Lune", had been set to music by the French composer Debussy on the piano, and has be called his greatest composition ever. You can listen to it here. It certainly is quite lovely.