The sailors near the port

shouted in chorus, demanding wine,

and over Stambul and over the Bosphorus

the full moon shone.

Tonight they will hurl an unfaithful wife

to the bottom of the bay,

a wife who was too beautiful

and looked like the moon.

She loved her daydreams,

the summer-house in the reed thicket,

old women fortune-tellers and their fortune-telling

and everything the Pasha did not like.

Father was sad, but understands

and whispers to the husband: “Well, is it time?,”

but the younger sister does not lift

her stubborn eyes and muses:

“Many, many other lovers

lie in the deep bays,

intertwined, languid and silent …

What happiness to be among them!”