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I am now at a very pleasant cottage window
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looking onto a beautiful hilly country, with a view of the sea.
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The morning is very fine.
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I do not know how elastic my spirit might be,
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what pleasure I might have in living here
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if the remembrance of you did not weigh so upon me.
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Ask yourself, my love, whether you are not
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very cruel to have so untrammeled me,
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so destroyed my freedom.
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For myself, I know not how to express
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my devotion to so fair a form.
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I want a brighter word than bright, a fairer word than fair.