To the presence of the Good that we love,

our soul shines, as the sun in the height,

and sings, cheerful, as the tanagers,

some replete of luck madrigals.

In your absence, as in cold night,

our soul cries and it suffers horrible pains.

When seeing our Good, it returns the happiness

again and they shine in the soul a thousand splendors.

Close to whom we love, soon it exults

our soul and she sees Cupid, the arrow and the quiver.

Were we absent? What scorn!... the night increases.

The sun of the love that in us was raising fled.

The noon sun sparkles in clear day,

after it goes down to the West and the darkness comes.

And turns the sun, later, rutilant and rare,