To me it seems that man has the fortune
of gods, whoever sits beside you
and close, who listens to you
and laughing temptingly. My heart
flutters in my breast whenever
I quickly glance at you –
I can say nothing,
my tongue is broken. A delicate fire
runs under my skin, my eyes
see nothing, my ears roar,
rushes down me, trembling seizes me,
I am greener than grass.
To myself I seem
needing but little to die.
Yet all must be endured, since . . .
Translated by Rayor