Verlaine, "Circonspection"

A work ("Circumspection") by this French poet.  You can read the original here.

So hold your breath, sit here, and take my hand
Beneath this giant tree where breezes die,
Beneath these branches grey so will we sigh,
Unequal in the moonlight's soft, pale band. 

While eyes and knees shall kiss, let us not move 
Or think, just dream. Then mimic in our way  
Brief happiness and love bound to decay,
As owls' wings our scalps so barely groove.

Let us expect no things. Restrained, discreet,
May both our souls persist in calm this sweet,
By our serene sun's fatal downward plod. 

Let us be mute amidst nocturnal peace. 
No good can come of thwarting nature's sleep,
O nature, that laconic, feral god.