As he who in dreaming receives pleasure
His pleasure proceeding from madness
Thus he imagines with his figuratively
His joy in me conceives
Another good in more, sad, it is not written
If it is not the one that in my thinking seeks
Of what has been done in my fortune
The only imagined is what lives
My heart fears going forward
Seeing that its pain is hidden
And so it turns back in an instant
To contemplate its past glory
Oh shadow of inconstant remedy
Be in me the best that is nothing
Like one receiving pleasure from a dream
His pleasure thus proceeding from delusion
So does imagination with illusions conceive in vain
Its happiness in me
No other good's inscribed on my sad heart
Except what in my thoughts I might seek
Of all the good I ever have hardened
br/>What lives is only the imagined part
My heart is frightened to proceed ahead
Seeing that its pain in ambush lies
And so after a moment it turns back
To contemplate those glories that have fled
Oh, shadow of relief, that fickle flies
To make what's best in me, be what I lack

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