The swan put my face on its white gown. The swan has wings so I don't mind being spellbound. Aren't you, my love, a faraway cloud? I know, you walk alone in your town. You catch the horizon for my heart's sound. O, wait! My voice can be quiet and loud.
You walk alone along the streets with your umbrella, large and brown. You wish you reached my shoulders through my hair's cascade down. That's why you give your face to a curly cloud.
O, my love, you don't mind being spellbound. The cloud meets the swan when the moon looks round. Wait! The swan will fly to your town. Time invents its stories for both you and the crowd.