È strano! - Ah, fors'è lui

It's strange! It's strange!
Carved in my heart are those accents!
Could serious love be a sweet scent for me?
What do you decide, oh troubled soul of mine?
No man has ever ignited you
Oh, joy
that I never knew,
to be loved while loving!
And can I scorn it
for the dry madness of my life?

Ah, maybe it's him that the soul
finds in the turmoil
often delights in painting
with his hidden colors.
He, who modest and watchful
ascended to the joyful thresholds,
waking me to love!

To that love which is the heartbeat
of the entire universe,
mysterious, proud,
a cross and delight to the heart.

Madness! This is a vain delirium!
Poor woman, alone, abandoned
in this crowded desert
that they call Paris,
what more can I hope for? What should I do?
Rejoice!
To perish in the whirlpools of desire!
Rejoice!