When, every day, the spark of chaste,
Pure Love betwixt us—arms enlaced—
Flashes anew; when such you see,
Ought you not, then, my lover be?

When you see how I pine, debased,
By hidden bale and bane laid waste,
Languishing in my misery,
Ought you not, then, my lover be?

When you see that I have no taste
To carp on one less beauty-graced,
And that I want you all to me,
Ought you not, then, my lover be?

When I, by some new love embraced,
Never would wish your love replaced,
Lest you lament my cruelty,
Ought you not, then, my lover be?

When you see time, in fleeting haste,
Prove me to be not many-faced
But true to you eternally,
Ought you not, then, my lover be?

Translation by Norman R. Shapiro