Ανυπάκουοι χρόνοι VIΙ

Phoebus had not yet
brought daylight to the world
when a damsel
came out of her dwelling.

Her suffering was plain
on her face,
and frequently she let
great sighs loose from her heart.

Thus trampling the flowers,
she wandered here and there,
and her lost love
she thus wept:

"Love," she said, stopping
to look at the heavens,
"where, where is the faith
that the traitor swore to me?

Let my love return
as he was,
or else kill me, so that I
may no longer torment myself."

Poor wretch, alas, nol longer
can she suffer such scorn.

"I don't want him to sigh
except away from me,
I no longer want him
to confide his sufferings in me.

Because I suffer for him,
he is proud;
will he beseech me
if I flee from him?

She may have a more serene
brow than mine,
but even Love's breast
does not harbor such beautiful constancy.

Never will he have such sweet kisses
from that mouth,
nor softer - be still,
be still, that he knows all too well.

Thus among scornful weeping
she scattered her laments to the sky;
thus in lovers' hearts
Love mixes flame and ice.