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Cuando el soplo de abril abre las flores, buscan las golondrinas de la vieja torre las agrestes ruinas; los pardos ruiseñores buscando van, bien mío, el bosque más sombrío, para esconder a todos su morada en los frondosos ramos. y nosotros también, en el tumulto de la inmensa ciudad, hogar oculto anhelantes buscamos, donde jamás oblicua una mirada llegue como un insulto; y preferimos las desiertas calles donde la turba inquieta en tropel no se agrupa; y en los valles las sendas del pastor y del poeta; y en la selva el rincón desconocido donde no llegan del mundo los rumores. Como esconden los pájaros su nido, vamos allí a ocultar nuestros amores.
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