I come from the steppes my dears
Tonight, of the darkness with favor.
Comâella, from my arid heart
No one was given to me to love
Thus meditating went the wolf
Guided by the light of the moon
And as he approached his mistress
The soul gradually became less dark
My beloved, your mouth tastes of blood
And this is a sad trait of your grandfather
But a glimmer of purity, albeit dormant
In your sad and proud chest lies and languishes
Madam, such is my nature
I certainly did not choose to be proud
And suppliant, in this black night
Asylum I ask for your greenery
And tell me, now, what can I do,
Can my heart really be pure?
Tell me if my dark soul can finally become worthy of your love.
My beloved, here rests your tired chest:
Do not fear for your sad fate
But escape the fear of death,
Finally lie here at my side.