Moon white? No, it was not.
Dim sun? No, it was not.
And yet, that faint smell,
why is it still part of me?

Yes, it was a dream of a pale scent.
By the faint twilight beach,
I, again lying behind you,
what did we sing, what did we speak?

I don't know; though it was a day
when everything was young, now forgotten,
I know, the two of us drowned,
I glimpsed a flower of water hyacinth.