How my heart trembled with timid glee
  as I buried my eyes into that golden field of rape.
  An engine running in the torrential rain
  was my heart naked struggled not to faint.
  The wave after the wave crushing upon the shore
  echoed the crest and the crest that wrinkled upon my sea;
  the king of the storm of the pearl meteors
  rang the drums resonant to the beats.
  A song, a song, a song.
  So it was a song composed by the pearls,
  jumping freely on the staff of your hair.
  For that the fox lingered.
  Was the fox on your field?
  Or was he merely a scarecrow?

--

line 11~12: Cf "The Little Prince"