Me alejé de ti en la primavera,
Cuando el feraz abril, engalanado,
Infundió tal juventud al mundo
Que aun el grave Saturno retozaba.
Mas ni el canto de aves ni el aroma
De flores coloridas y diversas
De júbilo pudieron embriagarme
O incitarme a arrancarlas de los prados.
No admiré la blancura de los lirios
Ni elogié las encendidas rosas,
Esas dulces figuras deleitables
Que tomaban tu imagen por modelo.
Mas era como invierno, y en tu ausencia
Jugué con ellas como con tu sombra.

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seemed it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.