One of my favourite poems is Paysage en Lincolnshire by Paul Verlaine.

L'échelonnement des haies
Moutonne à l'infini, mer
Claire dans le brouillard clair
Qui sent bon les jeunes baies.

Des arbres et des moulins
Sont légers sur le vert tender
Où vient s’ébattre et s’étendre
L’agilité des poulains.

Dans ce vague d’un Dimanche
Voici se jouer aussi
De grandes brebis aussi
Douces que leur laine blanche

Tout à l’eure déferlait
L’onde, roulée en volutes,
De cloches comme des flûtes
Dans le ciel comme du lait.

For years I have intended to translate it, but have always failed. This is mainly because my own French is so bad, although the 'literal' translations from various sites have not helped!

Babelfish
L' spreading out of the hedges moutonne to l' infmi, clear sea in the clear fog which feels young bays good.

Trees and mills are light on the green tender where comes to play about and to extend the agility from the foal ta.

In this one Sunday old vagueness to be also played here of large ewes as soft as their white wool

all in the Eure broke the wave, rolled in volutes, of bells like flutes in the sky like milk.

Google
The timing of hedges sheep to the infinite, bright sea fog clear that smells good young berries.

Trees and mills are light green tender where just playing and extend agility foals.

In this wave of a Sunday here to play as large sheep that their soft white wool

Earlier everywhere breaking wave, rolled into scrolls, bell-like flutes in the sky as milk.

Paralink
The spacing out of hurdles is covered with white horses in the infinity, clear sea in the clear mist which smells nice the young berries.

Trees and mills are light on the green tender where comes to frolic about and to stretch the suppleness of the colts.

In this space of Sunday here is to make light also of big so soft ewes as their white wool

Everything in the Evre unfurled the wave, rolled in volutes, of bells as flutes in the sky as some milk.

Wordlingo
The spreading out of the hedges moutonne ad infinitum, clear sea in the clear fog which smells young bays good.

Trees and mills are light on the green tender where comes to play about and to extend the agility from the foalta.

In this one Sunday old vagueness to be also played here of large ewes as soft as their white wool

A few moments ago broke the wave, rolled in volutes, of bells like flutes in the sky like milk.


Today I have at last come up with a translation which almost satisfies me.

All about an infinity of sheep
Graze in the hedges’ lea
Clear to the mist-swathed sea
While lambs bleat and leap,

Their play agile and light
On the pasture’s tender green:
And proud above this scene
The trees and mills stand bright

In Sunday quietude
Soft as the ewes’ white fleece;
A scene with Sabbath peace
Eternally endued.

In scrolls of softest silk
Waves sound along the shore,
Before retreating evermore
Beneath a sky like milk.