Flora

As in a corridor, I pace

The Summer Garden until

From far off I recognize

The goddess Flora wrought in stone.

Oh, eighteenth-century nostalgia

For the simple country life!

Divine Flora, passion and sweet bliss-

A garland of roses adorns her belly.

How light is her nimble step!

How her loose, careless,

Shepherdess's attire

Enlivens the everyday world.

Where does this serenity come from?

What joys lie ahead?

How cunning is the casual drape

Of her shift, slipping from the breast!

Divine Flora, it is neither lust

Nor devilry that prompts me, as

Dumbly, silently, I tear myself

Away from your simple charms.