Hyacinth

Under a thin moon, in a distant, ancient land,
so the poet spoke to the laughing princess:

The chant of the cicadas will die in the olive leaves,
fireflies on crumpled hyacinths will go out,
but the sweet cut of your oblong
satiny dark eyes, their caress, and ebb
slightly gray on the squirrel, and shine on the lower eyelid,

and gentle folds over the top, - forever
will remain in my shining verses,
and people will love your long, happy gaze,
as long as there are cicadas and olives on earth
and wet hyacinth in diamond fireflies.

So spoke the poet to the laughing princess
under a thin moon, in a distant, ancient land ...

Vladimir Nabokov.