The evening breeze sings the forgotten songs Of ghosts of nymphs 'tween silver birches there. And beams of moonlight fall on grassy lawns: A pearly cloak e'erywhere the eye sees fair.
So many gentle dawns took care to kiss Along the flowered, verdant forest floor. In this blessed land so filled with matchless bliss, Upon golden and rose-pink blossoms which it wore.
Every visitor that stumbles here Stops to see the flowers near, And stoops to pick some strawberries In the meadows, for their families.