All'ombra di Sospetto
In the Shadow of suspicion
my constant affection is lost.
The heart is not used to such love,
but adolescent love that pivots on false alarm
If flattery is the dart, then every pleasure is slow
so as to adore it but with contempt.
Oh how many lovers, oh how many faithful and true
have left disappointed from shrewd flattery and twisted love.
More of them pine like this.
And every time the blood is shed to show true love
the concept of passion and charming beauty is consuming.
And her calm affection is enough to hope
to be joyful until deceived.
To lie to yourself and be content
there are the true torments of the faithful lover.
Great harm to those that give her attention
That shake with the sorrow of cruel beauty.
my constant affection is lost.
The heart is not used to such love,
but adolescent love that pivots on false alarm
If flattery is the dart, then every pleasure is slow
so as to adore it but with contempt.
Oh how many lovers, oh how many faithful and true
have left disappointed from shrewd flattery and twisted love.
More of them pine like this.
And every time the blood is shed to show true love
the concept of passion and charming beauty is consuming.
And her calm affection is enough to hope
to be joyful until deceived.
To lie to yourself and be content
there are the true torments of the faithful lover.
Great harm to those that give her attention
That shake with the sorrow of cruel beauty.