Prelude

A delicate rose, with its heart full of rain,

has just opened on a trembling stem,

and I am gripped again by the sweet madness

of making songs and remembering!

The dead loves that lay dormant in my soul

(sweet Lazaruses on whom I've shed many tears)

laughingly lift up their shroud of flowers

and ask the name of my new lady.

Oh blue-eyed darling, put your dress on, let's run

away through the melancholy shady woods

to seek the sweet remedy for sweet madness.

- The sun has wounded me with its first rays!