Gleam with the drops that hang on them.

Life has no pleasure left for me

While my dear queen I may not see,

Who loved so well those blooms that vie

With the full splendour of her eye.

O tyrant Love, who will not let

My bosom for one hour forget

The lost one whom I yearn to meet,

Whose words were ever kind and sweet.

Ah, haply might my heart endure