D'un vanneur de blé aux vents
 
(The Winnower to the Winds)
 
To you, fleeting things,
That on passing wings
Through the world fly free,
And with murmuring sigh
The green shade passed by,
Sweetly shake the tree,
 
I pledge these violets,
Lilies, mignonettes,
And these roses new,
With each crimson rose
Only now disclosed,
And these wild pinks too.
 
With your breath so sweet
Cool the plain complete,
Cool this space and stray,
While I labour again
As I winnow my grain
In the heat of the day.