The hour has come at last when, trembling to and fro, Each flower is a censer sifting its perfume; The scent and sounds all swirl in evening?s gentle fume; A melancholy waltz, a languid vertigo! Each flower is a censer sifting its perfume; A violin?s vibrato wounds the heart of woe; A melancholy waltz, a languid vertigo! The sky, a lofty altar, lovely in the gloom, A violin?s vibrato wounds the heart of woe, A tender heart detests the black of nullity, The sky, a lofty altar, lovely in the gloom; The sun is drowning in the evening?s blood-red glow. A tender heart detests the black of nullity, And lovingly preserves each trace of long ago! The sun is drowning in the evening?s blood-red glow ? Your memory shines through me like an ostensory!