I don't deplore the years of my spring,
Where dreams and life were never in connection.
I don't deplore the nights' mysterious ring,
Sang by a lyre in a fiery passion.
I don't deplore the false and faithless friends,
The wreaths of feasts, the bowls of the parties,
I don't deplore the beautiful adulteries
A thoughtful stranger, I avoid these trends.
But where's the time of gentle inclination,
Of hearty silence and young hopes' strings ?
Where are the flame and tears of inspiration ?
Come back again, the years of my spring !