Child with the airs of an empress,
dove with the gaze of a falcon,
you hate me, yet it's my whim
to take a stand under your balcony.

There, with my foot on the milestone,
pinching my nerves and tapping the wood,
I want to make the lamp in your dreary window
light up - and your face at the same time.

I forbid any guitar
to be strummed in the neighbourhood.
Your street is mine: I'm blocking it
to sing my love for you solo.

And I'll cut off the two ears
of the first hopeful ham-scraper
who approaches the room where you lie awake
and bawls out a couplet - bad or good.

My knife is stirring in its scabbard.
Hey, anyone want some redness?
Who wants a drop of blood to make 
a garnet button in his ruff?

Blood grows bored in the veins;
it is meant to show itself.
The weather is dark, beware of rain!
Cowards, make haste to go home!

Come show yourselves, brave men and braggarts!
With my forearm covered by my cape,
let me inscribe crosses with my knife 
on your nefarious faces.

Let them advance, in a group or alone,
I stand firm awaiting them,
For your glory I need to slash
the noses of those warriors.

Over the gutter that impedes your steps
and could dirty your pretty white feet,
I wish to make (by Christ's body!) 
an arch from those suitors' ribs.

To prove to you how much I love you,
hey, I will kill whoever you wish.
I will set upon Satan himself,
if I have your two sheets as a shroud.

Your door is deaf! Your window is blind...
And yet you must hear my voice.
I bellow like a wounded bull,
thus making the dogs bark louder.

At least put a nail in your wall,
a nail I can hang my heart on.
What use would it be to carry it away again,
crazy with rage, dead with languor?