In the blue summer evenings, I will go along the paths,
and walk over the short grass, as I am pricked by the wheat:
daydreaming I will fell the coolness on my feet.
I will let the wind bathe my bare head.
I will not speak, I will have no thoughts:
but infinite love will mount in my soul;
a I will go far, far off, like a gipsy,
through the countryside – joyous as if I were with a woman.