In a rosebush
my nest was well-hidden;
but beneath the blossoming flowers
Love discovered me.

He ran into the grove,
Light and triumphant.
For my first cage I had [only]
the fingers of this beautiful child.

I received a beakful
from the end of his arrow ;
my tongue was pricked there
by the babbler-god.

And so my subtle voice,
with all my heart, from this day forward,
creeps and distills
a soft venom of love,

and my throat in a frenzy
in its brilliant trills,
knows [now] how to make all the notes
of the lyre of Love.

I want to sing again
My joy and my problems;
I sing with the dawn,
I sing with the night.

I defy and despise
warblers and finches;
and only death can extinguish
my heart and my songs.

I love a new flower,
the rose that listens to me;
I love it and, close to it, I want
to die while singing.