Above all, to my love I’ll be attentive
First, and with such ardor, and always, and so much
That even confronted by the greatest enchantment
Of my love may my thoughts be more enchanted

I want to live it [my love] in each vain moment
And in its praise I shall spread my song
And laugh my laugh and spill my tears
At its grief or its contentment

And thus, when later, looking for me
Who knows, maybe death, the angst of those who live
Who knows, maybe loneliness, fate of those who love

I could say to myself of the love (that I had):
Let it not be immortal, seeing as it is a flame
But let it be infinite while it lasts