For a small wreath I saw
awakens in me
a desire for every flower.

I saw you, my lady, carrying
a small wreath of tender flowers,
and around you flew
an angel of humble love;
and he songs a new song:
“All who see me will see
my beauty, my gentleman.

If I am where she is,
Fioretta, my beauty, crowned with laurels,
I will speak to her alone,
she who carries on her head my desires.
My lady carrying the
crown of love.

The gentle words of my poetry,
like flowers enhancing the fair,
both have pleasantly drawn us together,
a gift given to you
in which you are praised,
every man's song
honoring your image.