Un malato di cuore [English translation]

I could not run or play

In boyhood.

In manhood I could only sip the cup,

Not drink—

For scarlet-fever left my heart diseased.

Yet I lie here

Soothed by a secret none but Mary knows:

There is a garden of acacia,

Catalpa trees, and arbors sweet with vines—

There on that afternoon in June

By Mary’s side—

Kissing her with my soul upon my lips

It suddenly took flight.