To the sun because it rose while he was with a woman and he had to leave her
Already kissing two crystalline hands,
Already clinging to a white, smooth neck,
Already scattering 'round it all that hair,
which Love from the gold in its mines had torn;
already breaking on those precious pearls
a thousand sweet words, not deserving it,
already plucking from each lovely lip
crimson roses with no fear of thorns,
was I, oh shimmering and jealous Sun,
when your light, shattering my eyes,
killed my delight and stopped what I'd begun.
If heaven has not yet become too weak,
in order that yours cease to give me pain,
may its rays kill you as they did your son.
Translated by Alix Ingber
(1582)
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