I love to send this sad thought
of fate's unfairness into the depth of oblivion,
forgetting as it had never occurred
and troubled me in the tenderest years;
could I really forget all the grief and wrath
which I had to face holding back tears?
A lost youth can't be replaced by realizing its dimension.
Were others more deserving than I?
My glances showed no envy,
but desire was way too intense
to find happiness or even a little joy;
why did fate continuously deny me
to exult love in its splendid ways
with an amorous sentence?