Ch’in me non è di me voler nè forza.
In mountain-marble white,
Doth hide a statue bright,
That waxeth ever while the rock doth wane;
E’en so from flesh-control
The timid trembling soul
Mine inward fair would liberate in vain.
Lady, I look to thee
Alone to set me free,
For in myself doth will nor power remain.