If in bad weather
If in bad weather the siren sings well,
I must sing, for grief torments me
to such an extent, that my soul is content
to die; everything else frightens it.
And, if you want me to die next to you,
under your blanket, my suffering will be ended:
I shall be the bird which in its fragrant bed
dies, happy that its life has been so full.
Writer/s: Joan Roís de Corella, Raimon