The day is afraid

The day is afraid of losing its light:
when the night that spreads its darkness comes,
few animals do not close their eyes,
and the pain of the sick increases.
The evil-doers wish it would last all year
so that their wickedness has a covering.
But I, who live by myself, in torment
and without doing harm, wish that it passed quickly.

And, on the other hand, I do more than as if I killed
a thousand just men, without any mercy,
for I use all my wits to betray myself.
And don't think that the day will forgive me this,
for even at night I try hard to break my thought
so that in the day I commit treason:
neither fear of dying nor of living a narrow life
frees me of the effort to offend myself.

My wise Lady, my mind thinks
how skilfully the noose of love is placed;
without slackening my pace, and with the way clear,
I go to the end if mercy does not protect me.