On blue summer evenings, I'll go down the paths,
Getting pricked by the wheats, walking on thin grass.
Dreamer, I'll feel its freshness at my feet.
I'll let the wind bathe my bare head.
I won't speak, I won't think about anything.
But infinite love will rise in my soul;
And I'll go far, very far, as a bohemian,
Into Nature, — happy as if with a with a woman.