I Blessed be the year, the point, the day,
the season, the place, the month, the hour, the time
and the country, in which your enchanting gaze
gaze chained itself to my soul.
Blessed be the sweetest desire
to give myself to that love that dwells in my soul,
and the bow and the arrows, of which now
the wounds I still feel open.
Blessed are the words with which I sing
the name of my beloved; and my torment,
my anxieties, my sighs and my weeping.
And blessed are my verses and my art
for they extol her, and, in the end, my thought,
for she alone shares it.
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