I see the forest and the mountain
where Irene, the shepherdess, often speaks of love,
all alone, to the spring
and to the stream;
and I say: Ah, if only
I could turn into a spring and transform into a river,
so that I, from inside the mirror of its waves,
may show my sorrows to the eyes of Irene.

English: Flavio Ferri-Benedetti © 2011

I would tell her, murmuring among the rocks:
‘Fair Irene, the stream that you are now passing by
will not join the river without loving you.’

And I would tell her: ‘The river’s spring
that now is shining, O shepherdess, is ignited by your face,
and falls in love with you, Irene.’

English: Flavio Ferri-Benedetti © 2011

Then, when the shepherd led his flock to drink at the spring,
or at the fleeting river, I would tell him:
‘Beware not to trouble the waters
of the silent spring,
of the stream that roars among its banks—
for both are in love with the gentle face
of Irene, the shepherdess.’

English: Flavio Ferri-Benedetti © 2011

But both the forest and the mountain, meanwhile,
flatter my sorrows with the beauty
of my beloved shepherdess.

With my tears, I keep increasing
the waters of the spring and the waves of the river,
sighing for Irene.

English: Flavio Ferri-Benedetti © 2011