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Before burn Paris

Paris

Until more time, my love and before it burns

Paris until more time, my love
until my heart is on his branch
would like a night in May

on one of these nights quay Voltaire

kiss on the mouth and then going to Notre-Dame
contemplate his
rosette, and suddenly bolting me
fear of joy and wonder

the stars weep silently weep
mixed with light rain. Until

still time, my love and before it burns

Paris until more time, my love
until my heart is on his branch
on this night of May
under the willows along the Seine, my rose, with you under
the weeping willows soft rain
I'd say the two words most repeated in Paris
the most repeated, the most sincere

whistling a burst of happiness
song and believe in men.

At the top, the stone houses with no grooves nor
humps

stuck with their walls in the moonlight, and their windows
straight
who sleep standing on the shore and in front of the Louvre

illuminated by lamps lit by us two

our beautiful crystal palace. Until

still time, my love and before it burns

Paris until more time, my love
until my heart is on his branch
on this night in May, along the Seine, warehouses
we will sit on the red barrels
across the river in the dark night to greet the
barge passing yellow cab
- to Belgium or to the Netherlands? -
front of the cab a woman with a white apron

smiles sweetly. Until

still time, my love and before it burns

Paris until more time, my love.

N. Hikmet