For a beautiful lady.
Your eyes the night and stars reflect,
the thousand secrets in the firmament.
A glance from you my confidence has wrecked,
yet faithfully to each I shall attend.
Your smiles with Venus’ beauty would compete,
Apollo’s radiance they all eclipse.
The shades of melancholy they defeat,
each like a ray of sunlight from your lips.
Yet brighter than your beauty shines your spirit,
as radiant as the sun a summer’s day.
By its command my hopes and dreams draw near it,
and by its light are never led astray.
No simple words your beauty could come near,
still, these, at least, are from the heart, sincere.
Should I compare you to a summer’s day,
or rather to a clear and starry night?
Where planets and the Moon a course obey
among the stars which shine down from their heights.
And yet those thousand stars that dust the sky,
though each bespeaking secrets old and new,
enchant me less, my dear, I won’t deny,
than just one single minute spent with you.
And when the night has passed, and with the dawn
the brilliant morning light dispels the stars,
your beauty still remains, complete, unshorn,
a graceful nonpareil whom nothing mars.
Above the stars, this your distinction proved:
That you are near, and they are far removed.
O, come with me and take my hand, my flower,
together to the heavens let us fly.
All Chronos’ time, eternal, shall be ours
to explore this world and those beyond the sky.
We’ll sail an ocean filled with stars and lights
aboard a barque, its sails with dreams imbued.
There I will claim the brightest star, by rights,
and, tribute-like, will name it after you.
We’ll land upon the shores of Via Lactēa;
I’ll yield my heart to you (that which you stole),
and then declare to the world, to Gaia thea,
you are my Lady of the Stars, my soul.
Yet, regardless of how far away we range,
my affection for you will never die, nor change.