The Shrouded Bélóstáin (English Version)

Place at its finest

In July, they came

And met in August

For flowers, they were named

They stayed and dwelt in September

Bathing in the sun

Oh, Sway, she let down her guard

Grow, grow, lurking Datura

Feeding up Rosemary, who couldn't let go of discards

Night and night, stood aloof from the light

Down and down, fell into addictions, and took delight

Time and time behind the curtain he hid

'Til that came into sight

Place at its finest, Bélóstáin

Where passionate vines often chase the butterflies

A place with fragrances, Bélóstáin

And now, to dust, the flower has returned