No, do not look at me

No, do not look at me

With those burning eyes,

So that I don't know, otherwise,

With what fire I blaze,

So that I no longer have any escape,

No longer have any peace.

Is it true, then, that in May

You were born with the roses;

That you stole from the sun a ray;

That every other good thing was hidden?

Is it true that you have a toy

Where every woman has her heart,

Because pity has no place in you...

Pity of love?