The god Phoebus had still to light

The great fires of the dawn

When the nymph left her dwelling.

Her face a pale temple in its ruins of grief;

Her cries – a heart, rending.

Hither and thither she went,

Stumbling through flowers,

Grieving the love she had lost:

"Hear me, O Love", she begged the heavens,

– stock still now, rooted to the spot –

"What happened to that traitor’s vow,

‘Togetherness and trust’?

"I just want him back,

But as he was before.

If you cannot – then kill me;

I cannot bear this agony.

"No more will I listen to his sighs,

Unless we are separated by a thousand seas –

No! No longer will I martyr myself for this.

"I am destroying myself because of him,

And the worse it is, the more gorged,

The more satisfied he seems.

If I were to flee from him,

Perhaps then he might come begging?

"That woman’s eyebrows

May be arched more perfectly than mine,

But sealed within my breast, O Love,

Lives a faithfulness still fairer.

"And that woman’s mouth will never open

To give such kisses as I can give!

(Shh! Say nothing – you know only too well!)"

With these cries she cast

Her anguish to the heavens.

And so it is that in the heart of every lover

Burns, side-by-side, love’s flame and ice.

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