By the lake, among quiet gardens, lovers lean into one another— each voice calling, each heart answering, as though love were born anew. Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for your love is sweeter than wine. Your oils have a pleasing fragrance, your name poured out— therefore the virgins love you. For me, your beauty is forever— yet our bodies are bound to time. Aimons donc, aimons donc! de l’heure fugitive, Hâtons-nous, jouissons! L’homme n’a point de port, le temps n’a point de rive; Il coule, et nous passons! So let us love—before it fades, before the moment slips away. How is your beloved better than another beloved, O fairest among women? How is your beloved better than another beloved, that you so adjure us? For me, your beauty is eternal— but we are only passing through it. Aimons donc, aimons donc! de l’heure fugitive… So let us love—before it fades, before the moment slips away. Stay with me— not forever, but now. Before the hour dissolves, before the light is gone. By the lake, in the quiet light, their voices soften into dusk— each believing this fleeting hour will last.
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