La dona è mobile

The woman is fickle like a feather in the wind,
Changing in accent and thought.
Always with a lovely, graceful face,
In tears or in laughter, she is deceitful.
The woman is fickle like a feather in the wind,
Changing in accent and thought, and thought,
And thought.

It is always wretched who trusts in her,
Who confides in her heart imprudently!
Yet never truly happy is he,
Who does not taste love on that bosom!
The woman is fickle like a feather in the wind,
Changing in accent and thought, and thought,
And..........thought.