Ah, but her face was lovely; gentle was her glance.
She bore herself with grace, and yet with pride.
She humbled men puffed up with arrogance
and heartened those in whom all hope had died.

Alas for that sweet smile! It shot the dart
which makes me long for death: my kindest fate.
Her regal soul deserved to play a part
in empires past; but she was born too late.

I burn for you; I breathe in you; I’m yours alone.
And have I lost for ever your sweet company?
Alas, this is the worst calamity I’ve known.

I left you; with desire and hope you filled my mind,
keeping the thought of greater joys alive in me.
Alas for words of parting, scattered on the wind!