I am beauty’s faithful slave. When my mother gave me life

From the clouds the fairy of song flew down to my cradle 

And with a kiss that burned hot like a tropical sun

Touched my lips and little child’s forehead. 

My forehead burns forever with thoughts of eternal love

And lips speak them in a song.

I am beauty’s faithful slave. My pure soul like a lily

Has floated always in the music of the forest spheres.

The angelic music has intoxicated my soul with its honey

So that it trembles always with longing

And drives me to touch with my finger the strings of the light harp

And play a hymn to beauty 

I am beauty’s faithful slave. My ardent imagination is a painter

A wing of the moon is her brush, a dark enchanted garden her studio

In this garden from every direction the scents of colors soar up

And like the sun in Perseus images and profiles glow

And I only pour them in my pen onto the white paper

Yea, I paint, I play and sing. 

Translated by Keith Doubt and Wayles Browne 

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