Wake up, my song, from thy languor, rend this screen of the familiar, and
fly to my beloved there, in the endless surprise of our first meeting!



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Lovers come to you, my Queen, and proudly lay their riches at your feet:
but my tribute is made up of unfulfilled hopes.

Shadows have stolen across the heart of my world and the best in me has
lost light.

While the fortunate laugh at my penury, I ask you to lend my failings your
tears, and so make them precious.


I bring you a voiceless instrument.

I strained to reach a note which was too high in my heart, and the string
broke.

While masters laugh at the snapped cord, I ask you to take my lute in your
hands and fill its hollowness with your songs.



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