Gia il sole dal Gange più chiaro sfavilla
E tergi ogni stilla dell’alba che piange.

Col raggio dorato ingemma ogni stelo
E gliastri del cielo dipinge nel prato.

Already the sun from the Ganges sparkles brightly
Drying every dewdrop that the morning has wept.

With its golden rays it adorns every blade of grass
So that the stars of the sky are painted in the meadow.

To be near the beautiful idol whom one loves,
Is the most lovely delight of love!

To be far from the beloved that one desires,
Is of love the most vivid sorrow.

Translations by Bard Suverkrop--IPA Source LLC