While trying to compete with your hair,
Gold burnished under the sun shines in vain;
while with scorn right in the middle of the plain,
your white brow looks at the gorgeous lily;

while, in order to catch either of your lips,
more eyes follow them than would follow a blooming carnation,
and while with proud disdain triumphs
over the bright crystal your gentle neck,

enjoy neck, hair, lip, brow,
before, what in your golden age
was gold, lily, carnation, shiny glass

turn into not only silver or drooping violet,
but also you and it together,
into earth, smoke, dust, shadow, nothing.