SONNET
THE DISTRUST

What is this, lover surrendered heart?
What good is such a happy state to you,
if your sorrows seem to have doubled
since you started to be favored?

The horrifying image of oblivion
trouble my glory and my care grows,
and even the soul, I confess, has penetrated,
not jealousy, an ill-born suspicion.

Oh, my Lisi, in what mortal loss
I feel my heart shattered,
from a fear of rustic violence!

And if only one fear afflicts me so much,
how much my torment will be my good,
if to be this fear comes evidence.