How strange it is ... how strange!
Those words are carved upon my heart!
Would a true love bring me misfortune?

What do you think, o my troubled spirit?
No man before kindled a flame like this.
Oh, joy ...

I never knew ...
To love and to be loved!
Can I disdain this

For a life of sterile pleasure?

Was this the man my heart,

Alone in the crowd,
Delighted many times to paint
In vague, mysterious colours?

This man, so watchful yet retiring,
Who haunted my sickbed
And turned my fever

Into the burning flame of love!
That love,
The pulse of the whole world,

Mysterious, unattainable,
The torment and delight of my heart.