The dawn, dressed in white,
Has already opened the door to the sun
And with pink fingers
Caresses the myriads of flowers.
A mysterious trembling seems
To disturb all nature,
Yet you will not get up, and vainly
I stand here sadly and sing.
Dress yourself, too, in white
And open the door to your serenader!
Where you are not, all is dark,
Where you are, love is born!