The swan in the shade looks like snow;
Its peak is amber, from dawn to light;
The soft twilight that happens so brief
The candied wings flushed with light.
And then, in the waves of the bluish lake,
After the aurora lost its afterglow,
The wings stretched and the neck arched,
The swan is silver, bathed in the sun.
Such is, when the silk feathers sponge,
Olympian wounded bird of love,
And violates in the sonorous lines to Leda,
Looking for her beak her lips in bloom.
Sighs the beautiful naked and defeated,
And while in the air their complaints are gone,
Of the greenish background of bushy foliage
Pan's eyes are troubled.
