NOTE: 8

4.

Sweet [is] the moon, sweet [is] the breeze, Vay, le, le, le, le, Va, lo, lo, lo, lo. Sweet [is] the peasant’s sleep. Blessed [be] those days When we ascend the mountains. The moon has risen from the heavens; Sweet was the shepherd’s pipe. The herdsboy grazes the oxen, The plowman has lain down—sweet [is his] sleep. The rustling wind blows, Sweet was the breeze from the sea. Fields [and] valleys have grown hushed, The waters gurgle—sweet [is their] sound. The birds have perched in their nests, Sweet was the nightingale’s song. An immortal fragrance wafted, Sweet [is] the scent of the camphor rose.