Petrarch
Page 22
and so securely sits between two foes.
You wear your armor, she in braids and dress
sits barefoot there among the grass and flowers,
hardhearted against me and proud toward you.
I am a prisoner, but if some mercy
still keeps your bow intact, with a few arrows,
take vengeance for yourself and me, my Lord.
122
Dicesette anni à già rivolto il cielo
poi che ’mprima arsi, et giamai non mi spensi;
quando aven ch’ al mio stato ripensi,
sento nel mezzo de le fiamme un gelo.
Vero è ’l proverbio ch’ altri cangia il pelo
anzi che ’l vezzo, et per lentar i sensi
gli umani affetti non son meno intensi;
ciò ne fa l’ombra ria del grave velo.
Oi me, lasso! e quando fia quel giorno
che mirando il fuggir de gli anni miei
esca del foco et di si lunghe pene?
Vedrò mai il di che pur quant’ io vorrei
quell’aria dolce del bel viso adorno
piaccia a quest’occhi, et quanto si convene?
123
Quel vago impallidir, che ’l dolce riso
d’un’amorosa nebbia ricoperse,
con tanta maiestade al cor s’offerse
che li si fece incontr’ a mezzo ’l viso.
Conobbi allor sì come in paradiso
vede l’un l’altro; in tal guisa s’aperse
quel pietoso penser ch’ altri non scerse,
ma vidil io, ch’ altrove non m’affiso.
Ogni angelica vista, ogni atto umile
che giamai in donna ov’ amor fosse apparve,
fora uno sdegno a lato a quel ch’ io dico.
Chinava a terra il bel guardo gentile
et tacendo dicea, come a me parve:
“Chi m’allontana il mio fedele amico?”
122
Seventeen years the heavens have revolved
since I first burned with fire that rages still;
when I think of the state that I am in
I feel a chill within those flames of mine.
How true the saying is: we lose our hair
before our habits, and though senses slacken
the human passions are no less intense—
the bitter shadow of our heavy veil.
Ah grief! how long before I see the day
when, gazing at the flight my years have taken,
I step out of my grievous trial by fire?
Will that day ever come when the sweet air
about her lovely visage please these eyes
no more than I would wish, and than is fitting?
123
That charming paling of the face which covered
her smile of sweetness with the mist of love
so nobly was presented to my heart
that he went up to meet it on my face.
I understood then how in Paradise
one sees another—the way that thought of mercy
revealed itself no other could perceive,
but I saw it, for I look nowhere else.
Every angelic look, all humble gestures
appearing in a lady where love dwells
would be like scorn compared to what I speak of.
She bent to earth her lovely, gracious glance,
and in her silence said, it seemed to me:
“Who takes away from me my faithful friend?”
124
Amor, Fortuna, et la mia mente, schiva
di quel che vede et nel passato volta,
m’affliggon sì ch’ io porto alcuna volta
invidia a quei che son su l’altra riva.
Amor mi strugge ’l cor, Fortuna il priva
d’ogni conforto, onde la mente stolta
s’adira et piange; et così in pena molta
sempre conven che combatiendo viva.
Né spero i dolci dì tornino indietro,
ma pur di male in peggio quel ch’ avanza,
et di mio corso ò già passato ’l mezzo.
Lasso, non di diamante ma d’un vetro
veggio di man cadermi ogni speranza
et tutt’ i miei pensier romper nel mezzo.
125
Se ’l pensier che mi strugge
com’ è pungente et saldo
così vestisse d’un color conforme,
forse tal m’arde et fugge
ch’ avria parte del caldo
et desteriasi Amor là dov’ or dorme;
men solitarie l’orme
foran de’ miei pie’ lassi
per campagne et per colli,
men gli occhi ad ogn’or molli,
ardendo lei che come un ghiaccio stassi
et non lascia in me dramma
che non sia foco et fiamma.
Però ch’ Amor mi sforza
et di saver mi spoglia,
parlo in rime aspre et di dolcezza ignude;
ma non sempre a la scorza
124
Fortune and love, and my own mind, which shuns
what it sees now and turns back to the past,
afflict me so that there are times I feel
envy for those who’ve reached the other shore.
While Love wears out my heart, Fortune deprives it
of any comfort, and my foolish mind
gets angry and it weeps—so in great pain
forever I must live and fight this way.
Nor can I hope the sweet days will return,
I see what’s left me go from bad to worse,
and I’ve already run half of my course.
Alas, not made of diamond but of glass
all of my hope I see slip from my hands
and every thought of mine split down the middle.
125
If this thought paining me,
as it is sharp and constant,
were clothed in the right color,
perhaps that one who burns me
and flees would feel some heat,
and Love would be awakened where he sleeps;
then less alone would be
my weary footprints left
through fields and over hills,
my eyes always less wet,
if she would burn who stands there now like ice
and leaves in me no trace
that is not flame and fire.
Since Love is forcing me
but strips me of my skill,
my verse is harsh and naked of all sweetness;
not always on the outside
ramo né in fior né ’n foglia
mostra di for sua natural vertude.
Miri ciò che ’l cor chiude
Amor et que’ begli occhi
ove si siede a l’ombra.
Se ’l dolor che si sgombra
aven che ’n pianto o in lamentar trabocchi,
l’un a me noce, et l’altro
altrui, ch’ io non lo scaltro.
Dolci rime leggiadre
che nel primiero assalto
d’Amor usai quand’ io non ebbi altr’ arme:
chi verrà mai che squadre
questo mio cor di smalto,
ch’ almen com’ io solea possa sfogarme?
ch’ aver dentro a lui parme
un che Madonna sempre
depinge et de lei parla;
a voler poi ritrarla
per me non basto et par ch’ io me ne stempre:
lasso, cosi m’è scorso
lo mio dolce soccorso.
Come fanciul ch’ a pena
volge la lingua et snoda,
che dir non sa ma ’l più tacer gli è noia,
cosi ’l desir mi mena
a dire, et vo’ che m’oda
la dolce mia nemica anzi ch’ io moia.
Se forse ogni sua gioia
nel suo bel viso è solo
et di tutt’ altro è schiva,
>
odil tu, verde riva,
e presta a’ miei sospir si largo volo
che sempre si ridica
come tu m’eri amica.
Ben sai che si bel piede
non toccò terra unquanco
come quel dì che già segnata fosti,
onde ’l cor lasso riede
does branch or leaf or flower
reveal the natural goodness it contains.
Let those fair eyes and Love
who sits beneath their shade
see what my heart encloses.
If grief that is unburdened
should overflow in tears or in laments,
the one pains me, the other
another, for it is crude.
O sweet and graceful verse
that in my first assault
on Love I used—I had no other arms—
will someone come and break
this heart of mine that’s stone
so I can vent my feelings as I used to?
There seems inside him one
who always paints my lady
and talks about her there;
to describe her on my own
I cannot do, so I become untuned;
alas, and so has fled
that sweet comfort of mine.
Just as a child that hardly
can get his tongue untied,
who cannot speak but hates not speaking more,
so my desire leads me
to speak, and I want her,
my own sweet foe, to hear me before I die.
But if all of her joy
is in her face alone
and cares for nothing else,
then you, green shore, must listen
and lend to my laments so wide a flight
that it can be recalled
how good a friend you were.
You know a foot so lovely
has never touched the earth
as on that day when you were marked by hers,
and so my tired heart
col tormentoso fianco
a partir teco i lor pensier nascosti.
Così avestu riposti
de’ be’ vestigi sparsi
ancor tra’ fiori et l’erba,
che la mia vita acerba
lagrimando trovasse ove acquetarsi!
ma come po s’appaga
l’aima dubbiosa et vaga.
Ovunque gli occhi volgo
trovo un dolce sereno
pensando: “Qui percosse il vago lume.”
Qualunque erba o fior colgo,
credo che nel terreno
aggia radice ov’ ella ebbe in costume
gir fra le piagge e ’l flume
et talor farsi un seggio
fresco fiorito et verde.
Così nulla sen perde,
et più certezza averne fora il peggio.
Spirto beato, quale
se’ quando altrui fai taie?
O poverella mia, come se’ rozza!
Credo che tel conoschi:
rimanti in questi boschi.
returns with a pained body
to share with you the thoughts which they have hidden.
If only you had left
some lovely footprints still
among the grass and flowers
so that my bitter life
in tears might find a place where it could rest!
My vague and unsure soul
must do the best it can.
Wherever my eyes turn
I find sweet brightness there
and think: “That lovely light once struck right here.”
All grass or blooms I pick
I think have had their roots
in that same ground where she was wont to walk
between the banks and river
and sometimes made a seat,
fresh, flowering, and green.
This way no part is lost,
and knowing more exactly would be worse.
How great you are, blessed spirit,
when you do this to others.
O my poor little thing, how coarse you are!
I think you know it though.
Stay here inside these woods!
126
Chiare fresche et dolci acque,
ove le belle membra
pose colei che sola a me par donna,
gentil ramo ove piacque
(con sospir mi rimembra)
a lei di fare al bel flanco colonna;
erba et flor che la gonna
leggiadra ricoverse
co l’angelico seno;
aere sacro sereno
ove Amor co’ begli occhi il cor m’aperse:
date udienzia insieme
a le dolenti mie parole estreme.
S’ egli è pur mio destino,
e ’l cielo in ciò s’adopra,
ch’ Amor quest’occhi lagrimando chiuda,
qualche grazia il meschino
corpo fra voi ricopra,
e torni l’alma al proprio albergo ignuda;
la morte fia men cruda
se questa spene porto
a quel dubbioso passo,
ché lo spirito lasso
non poria mai in più riposato porto
né in più tranquilla fossa
fuggir la carne travagliata et l’ossa.
Tempo verra ancor forse
ch’ a l’usato soggiorno
torni la fera bella et mansueta,
et là ’v’ ella mi scorse
nel benedetto giorno
volga la vista disiosa et lieta,
cercandomi, et—o pieta—
già terra infra le pietre
vedendo, Amor l’inspiri
in guisa che sospiri
si dolcemente che mercé m’impetre
126
Clear, cool, sweet, running waters
where she, for me the only
woman, would rest her lovely body;
kind branch on which it pleased her
(I sigh to think of it)
to make a column for her lovely side;
and grass and flowers which her gown,
richly flowing, covered
with its angelic folds;
sacred air serene
where Love with those fair eyes opened my heart:
listen all of you together
to these my mournful, my last words.
If it, indeed, must be my fate,
and Heaven works its ways,
that Love close up these eyes while they still weep,
let grace see my poor body
be buried there among you
and let my soul return to its home naked;
then death would be less harsh
if I could bear this hope
unto that fearful crossing,
because the weary soul
could never in a more secluded port,
in a more tranquil grave,
flee from my poor belabored flesh and bones.
And there will come a time, perhaps,
that to the well-known place
the lovely animal returns, and tamed,
and there where she first saw me
that day which now is blessed,
she turns her eyes with hope and happiness
in search of me, and—ah, the pity—
to see me there as dust
among the stones, Love will
inspire her and she will sigh
so sweetly she will win for me some mercy
et faccia forza al cielo,
asciugandosi gli occhi col bel velo.
Da be’ rami scendea
(dolce ne la memoria)
una pioggia di fior sovra ’l suo grembo,
et ella si sedea
umile in tanta gloria,
coverta già de l’amoroso nembo;
qual fior cadea sul lembo,
qual su le treccie bionde
ch’ oro forbito et perle
qual si posava in terra et qual su l’onde,
qual con un vago errore
girando parea dir: “Qui regna Amore.”
Quante volte diss’ io
allor, pien di spavento:
“Costei per fermo nacque in paradiso!”
Così careo d’oblio
il divin portamento
e ’l volto e le parole e ’l dolce riso
m’aveano, et si diviso
da l’imagine vera,
ch’ i’ dicea sospirando:
“Qui come venn’ io o quando?”
credendo esser in ciel, non là dov’ era.
Da indi in qua mi piace
quest’erba sì ch’ altrove non ò pace.
Se tu avessi ornamenti quant’ ài voglia,
poresti arditamente
uscir del bosco et gir infra la gente.
and force open the heavens
drying her eyes there with her lovely veil.
Falling from gracious boughs,
I sweetly call to mind,
were flowers in a rain upon her bosom,
and she was sitting there
humble in such glory
now covered in a shower of love’s blooms:
a flower falling on her lap,
some fell on her blond curls,
like pearls set into gold
they seemed to me that day;
some fell to rest on ground, some on the water,
and some in lovelike wandering
were circling down and saying, “Here Love reigns.”
How often I would say
at that time, full of awe:
“For certain she was born up there in Heaven!”
And her divine behavior,
her face and words and her sweet smile
so filled me with forgetfulness
and so divided me
from the true image
that I would sigh and say:
“Just how and when did I come here?”
thinking I was in Heaven, not where I was;
and since then I have loved
this bank of grass and find peace nowhere else.
If you had all the beauty you desired,
you could with boldness leave
the wood and make your way among mankind.
127
In quella parte dove Amor mi sprona
conven ch’ io volga le dogliose rime
che son seguaci de la mente afflitta:
quai fien ultime, lasso, et qua’ fien prime?
Collui che del mio mal meco ragiona
mi lascia in dubbio, si confuso ditta.
Ma pur quanto la storia trovo scritta
in mezzo ’l cor che si spesso rincorro