My God, I want the woman who passes by. Its cold back is a field of lilies. She has seven colors in her hair. Seven hopes in the fresh mouth! Oh! How beautiful you are, woman who passes by, who satisfies and tortures me, within the nights, within the days! Your feelings are poetry. Your sufferings, melancholy. Your light hairs are good grass. Fresh and soft. Your beautiful arms are gentle swans far from the voices of the wind. My God, I want the woman who passes by!