Return, return, my beloved!
Like a flower far from the sun,
The flower of my life is shut,
Far from your rosy smile!

Between our hearts such distance!
Such space between our kisses!
O bitter destiny! O harsh absence! 
O great, unappeasable desires!

Between here and there what lands,
What cities and hamlets,
What valleys and montains,
To exhaust the feet of horses!

To the land that has taken my love
Ah! if only I could go;
If only my body had wings
With which to fly, like my soul!

Over the green hills,
Over mountains with azure brows,
Over scraped fields and ravines,
I would go in rapid and secure flight.

The body does not obey the thought;
For me, my soul goes straight ahead
And, like a wounded dove,
Collapses upon the edge of her roof.

Lower yourself onto that divine bosom,
As lovely and burnished as gold, 
As soft as an ermine duvet,
Her bosom, my royal treasure;

And say, my soul, to this beauty:
"You know well that he is counting the days!
O my dove! Take flight
And return to the nest of our loves."