I won't tell you anything,
And I won't trouble you at all,
And about the thing that I silently repeat
I won't dare for anything to hint.
All day the night flowers sleep,
But a soon as the sun sets behind the grove,
The petals open quietly, slowly
And I hear my heart bloom.
And to my aching tired breast,
It's blowing with night moisture … I tremble.
I won't disturb you at all,
I won’t tell you anything.
