In the meadow I gaze at each white flower,
Remembering what it is that makes me
So eager to sigh that now I ask for more.
And I remember the white, the dark green,
That so created the lovely dress
With which Love was clothed,
When, with Mars and Venus watching,
The arrow that cuts deepest
Into my heart he drove:
When in the breeze the white flowers move,
I remember her lovely eyes’ sweet whiteness,
For which this desire of mine cannot be less.