Halt, you shadow of my fleeting joy,
image of the charms that I most desire,
beautiful dream for whom I laughing die,
sweet untruth for whom I grieving live.
If to the magnet of the pull of your graces,
my heart responds like obedient steel,
then why do you court me, flattering
if you will mock me later, fugitive?
But don't think you can brag, self-satisfied,
that your tyranny triumphs over me:
for though you've fled and the tight noose have mocked
that once encircled your fantastic form,
I donít care that youíre mocking my arms and breast
for in my mind's own prison you have been locked.