Les moulins de mon cœur [English translation]

Like a rock that one throws

in the running water of a stream

and which leaves behind

thousands of circles in the water,

like a moon's carousel

with its stars for horses,

like a ring of Saturn,

a carnival balloon,

like the path round the battlements

that the hours take continually,

the journey around the world

of an unbloomed sunflower,1

you make turn with your name

all the windmills of my heart.

Like a skein of wool

in the hands of a child

or the words of an old tune

caught in the harps of the wind,

like a snow swirl,

like a flight of seagulls

over Norway forests,

over white-crested ocean waves,

like the path round the battlements

that the hours take continually,

the journey around the world

of an unbloomed sunflower,

you make turn with your name

all the windmills of my heart.

That day near the spring

God knows what you said to me,

but summer ended its course,

the bird fell from its nest

and there on the sand

our footprints are already fading away

and I am alone at the table

which resounds under my fingers

like a tambourine that weeps

under the drops of the rain,

like the songs that die

as soon as they are forgotten

and the leaves of autumn

encounter skies less blue

and your absence gives them

the color of your hair.

A rock that one throws

in the running water of a stream

and which leaves behind it

thousands of circles in the water,

in the wind of the four seasons

you make turn with your name

all the windmills of my heart.

1. During growth, sunflowers tilt during the day to face the sun but stop once they begin blooming.