Crown of Love
Crowned with marvels, you boast,
fulminating sephulchre, traitorous peak,
of great deeds of fire and snow,
of a blazing pyre lodging in ice.
The winter burns bristling in flame,
the fire imbibes the rain and hail;
you groan, there's thunder; you breathe,
it rains you body scattered in ash.
If I had ben born to less misfortune,
you, my crown of love, would have no equal;
you'd be a beautiful, peerless monster
But since my ardor blazes in lofty snow,
I am truly reborn, you lover,
your burning likeness in the world.
Fire, grief, sighs and pain
If the abyss, unleashed by floods,
consumed all the world's fore,
the flame fueling my veins, fed
by my blood, could have restored it.
If the day, by god led astray,
drank all the earth's water,
my eyes with their pious tears
they split, could have renewed them.
If gods kept all the gusty
legions imprisoned, my endless sighs
could have forged replacements.
If god, with his sweet music,
soothed all of hell's torments,
my pains could have found new ones,
in a sephulchre, side with the crown of love.