1. The glances of her languid eyes grow cold when she's cross,
So you'd think them brimful of sleepiness.

2. I make excuses, though I yearn for her embraces;
Her cheek's soft lightning roams gently from her land.

3. She gives me nothing but a lingering sickness
That keeps me near, or draws me from, her side.

4. I tend the stars in night's darkness, while my eyes
Keep watch o'er them, wrapped in their own lids.

5. Would that the whiteness of the dawn might appear to my weeping eyes
As if the gloom were created from her blackness.