I don't know why, when she passes,

full of charms, full of grace,

they roam me in the soul rutilant dreams...

If she is passing, she is proceeding,

my lips are going soon opening up,

blessing her, always smiling.

Royal beauty! How much elegance!

When she passes, chests in anguish

release sighs in tender heaving.

Royal beauty! When she speaks,

how much sweet harmony she exhales

of the loved sounds of her speech!

I am a lunatic, I am a demented,

when I see her beautiful and fulgent,

like murderess of hearts.

My chest burns, my eyes shine

and goes my soul, goes on the knees,

descanting to her rosy songs.

She is gentile and blonde Muse,

star that shines, Muse that gilds

my mind — source of rhymes.

When she passes, in a soft step,

my soul hovers... after, in dream,

enjoys the more excellent delights.

(I even bless, dazzling flower,

in my rhymes. Let that I descant

your charms — my desires.

Let that there vibrates, with harmony

and strong ardour, the Poetry,