Roses of June, you the fairest with your hearts
transfixed by the sun; violent and tranquil
roses, like a delicate flock of birds settled on
the branches;
Roses of June and July, upright and new, mouths
and kisses that suddenly move or grow still with
the coming and going of the wind, caress of
shadow and gold on the restless garden;
Roses of mute ardour and gentle will, roses of
voluptuousness in your mossy sheaths, you who
spend the days of high summer loving each other
in the brightness;
Fresh, glowing, magnificent roses, all our roses,
oh! that, like you, our manifold desires, in our
dear weariness or trembling pleasure, might love
and exalt each other and rest!