The Sun had not brought
The day to the world yet,
When a maiden
Went out of her dwelling.
On her pale face
Grief could be seen,
Often from her heart
A deep sigh was drawn.
Thus, treading upon flowers,
She wandered, now here, now there,
And lamented her lost loves
Like this:
- O Love - she said,
Gazing at the sky, as she stood -
Where's the fidelity
That the deceiver promised? -
Poor her!
- Make my love come back
As he used to be
Or kill me, so that
I will not suffer anymore. -
Poor her! She cannot bear
All this coldness!
- I don't want him to sigh any longer
But if he's far from me.
No! He will not make me suffer
Anymore, I swear!
He's proud
Because I languish for him.
Perhaps if I fly away from him
He will come to pray to me again.
If her eyes are more serene
Than mine,
O Love, she does not hold in her heart
A fidelity so pure as mine.
And you will not receive from those lips
Kisses as sweet as mine,
Nor softer. Oh, don't speak!
Don't speak! you know better than that! -
So amidst disdainful tears,
She spread her crying to the sky;
Thus, in the lovers' hearts
Love mixes fire and ice.
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