My love is red like a rose of summer:

You are cruel,

And great is your burning power.

With the vain hope of restless youth,

And a face full of pitiful desire.

I look up to your face:

I see in it the picture of the imminent storm.

Darkness descends

As thick as blind desire:

In the sky is the signal of storm.

Storm comes down

With the unlawful power of a tyrant,

The red rose is blown away.