The hour has come at last when, trembling to and fro, br Each flower is a censer sifting its perfume; br The scent and sounds all swirl in evening’s gentle fume; br A melancholy waltz, a languid vertigo! br br Each flower is a censer sifting its perfume; br A violin’s vibrato wounds the heart of woe; br A melancholy waltz, a languid vertigo! br The sky, a lofty altar, lovely in the gloom, br br A violin’s vibrato wounds the heart of woe, br A tender heart detests the black of nullity, br The sky, a lofty altar, lovely in the gloom; br The sun is drowning in the evening’s blood-red glow.