Mi amor es como fiebre que delira
Por el mal que agudiza el sufrimiento,
Nutriéndose de cuanto el mal preserva
Por aplacar deseos enfermizos.
Mi razón, que en el trance me atendía,
Al ver su prescripción no respetada
Me abandonó, furiosa, y desespero
Pues deseo es muerte sin remedio.
Soy enfermo sin cura ni cordura,
Y presa de morbosas crispaciones.
Desvarío en palabra y pensamiento
Y en vano la verdad me habla al oído,
Pues te he jurado bella, y mi luz clara,
Y negro infierno eres, noche oscura.

My love is as a fever longing still,
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now Reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed;
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.