Petrarch
Page 47
Sometimes she speaks, and sometimes not a word;
like one mistaken who then thinks things out,
I tell my mind: “Yes, you have been deceived.
“You do know that in thirteen forty-eight,
at hour one of the sixth day of April
that soul now blest departed from its body.”
337
That, which in fragrance and in hue surpassed
the splendid, odoriferous Orient,
fruits, flowers, grass, and leaves for which the West
is known for its unique supremacy,
sweet laurel, which is mine, the dwelling place
of every beauty, every ardent virtue,
saw in its shadow decorously honest
sitting together there my lord and goddess.
And more, I built my nest of chosen thoughts
within that fertile tree, and burning, freezing,
aflame and trembling, I was very happy.
Her perfect qualities then filled the world
when God in order to adorn His Heaven
took her, and she was worthy of His presence.
338
Lasciato ài, Morte, senza sole il mondo
oscuro et freddo, Amor cieco et inerme,
Leggiadria ignuda, le Bellezze inferme,
me sconsolato et a me grave pondo,
Cortesia in bando, et Onestate in fondo;
dogliom’ io sol né sol ò da dolerme,
ché svelt’ ài di vertute il chiaro germe:
spento il primo valor, qual fia il secondo?
Pianger l’aer et la terra e ’l mar devrebbe
l’urnan legnaggio, che senz’ ella è quasi
senza fior prato, o senza gemma anello.
Non la conobbe il mondo mentre l’ebbe;
conobbil’ io ch’ a pianger qui rimasi
e ’l Ciel che del mio pianto or si fa bello.
339
Conobbi (quanto il Ciel li occhi m’aperse,
quanto studio et Amor m’alzaron l’ali)
cose nove et leggiadre, ma mortali,
che ’n un soggetto ogni Stella cosperse.
L’altre tante si strane et si diverse
forme, altere celesti et immortali,
perché non furo a l’intelletto eguali
la mia debile vista non sofferse.
Onde quant’ io di lei parlai né scrissi,
ch’ or per lodi anzi a Dio preghi mi rende,
fu breve stilla d’infiniti abissi;
ché stilo oltra l’ingegno non si stende,
et per aver uom li occhi nel sol fissi,
tanto si vede men quanto più splende.
338
You have left, Death, the world without its sun,
dark in the cold, and Love unarmed and blind,
and charm naked, and every beauty weak,
and me here, unconsoled, a heavy burden,
courtesy exiled, chastity sunk low;
I grieve alone though more have cause to grieve
for you’ve uprooted the pure seed of virtue—
once highest worth is dead, what will be second?
The air and earth and sea should all shed tears
for mankind’s lineage: her absence is
a field without flowers, a gemless ring.
The world did not know her while she was here;
I knew her, I who am left here to weep
and Heaven now made lovely by my tears.
339
I knew—so much had Heaven opened my eyes,
such diligence and Love raised up my wings—
unusual and gracious things, but mortal,
which all the stars had showered on one subject.
Those many other so strange and wondrous
forms of celestial immortality
because they were no match for my mind’s eye,
my weak sight was not able to endure.
And so, all that I spoke or wrote of her,
who for my praise now gives me prayers to God,
is a mere drop compared to depthless seas;
for pen cannot extend beyond one’s wit,
and though one has his eyes fixed on the sun,
the less he sees the brighter shines its light.
340
Dolce mio caro et prezioso pegno
che Natura mi tolse e ’l Ciel mi guarda:
deh, come è tua pietà ver me si tarda,
o usato di mia vita sostegno?
Già suo’ tu far il mio sonno almen degno
de la tua vista, et or sostien ch’ i’ arda
senz’ alcun refrigerio, et chi ’l retarda?
Pur lassù non alberga ira né sdegno,
onde qua giuso un ben pietoso core
talor si pasee delli altrui tormenti,
si ch’ elli è vinto nel suo regno Amore.
Tu che dentro mi vedi e ’l mio mal senti
et sola puoi finir tanto dolore,
con la tua ombra acqueta i miei lamenti.
341
Deh, qual pietà, qual angel fu si presto
a portar sopra ’l cielo il mio cordoglio?
ch’ ancor sento tornar pur come soglio
Madonna in quel suo atto dolce onesto
ad acquetare il cor misero et mesto,
piena sì d’umiltà, vota d’argoglio,
e ’n somma tal ch’ a morte i’ mi ritoglio,
et vivo, et ’l viver più non m’è molesto.
Beata s’è che po beare altrui
co la sua vista, o ver co le parole
intellette da noi soli ambedui:
“Fedel mio caro, assai di te mi dole;
ma pur per nostro ben dura ti fui,”
dice, et cos’ altre d’arrestare il sole.
340
Sweet, precious, and so cherished pledge of mine
whom Nature took and Heaven keeps for me,
ah, why is pity late to reach me now,
O you, my life’s habitual support?
At least my sleep you once considered worthy
to show yourself, and now you let me burn
without relief—and who delays its coming?
Up there, surely, there dwells no scorn or anger,
because of which a pitying heart down here
sometimes will feed upon another’s torment,
so Love himself in his own realm is vanquished.
You, who can see inside me know my pain,
and are the only one can end my grief,
with your own shadow quiet my laments.
341
What pity, ah, what angel was so swift
to carry through the heavens my heart’s grief?
Again I feel, as in the past, returning,
my lady in her own way chaste and sweet
to bring peace to my sad and wretched heart;
full of humility, empty of pride
she is, such that I now draw back from death
and live, and living is no longer hard.
Blessèd is she who can make others blest
by seeing her, or with those words of hers
that only for the two of us had meaning:
“My dear and faithful one, I grieve for you;
but for our own good I was cruel to you,”
she says, and more, enough to stay the sun.
342
Del cibo onde ’l signor mio sempre abonda,
lagrime et doglia, il cor lasso nudrisco;
et spesso tremo et spesso impallidisco,
pensando a la sua piaga aspra et profonda.
Ma chi né prima simil né seconda
ebbe al suo tempo, al letto in ch’ io languisco
vien tal ch’ a pena a rimirarl’ ardisco,
et pietosa s’asside in su la sponda.
Con quella man che tanto desiai
m’asciuga li occhi, et col suo dir m’apporta
dolcezza ch’ uom mortal non sentì mai:
“
Che val,” dice, “a saver chi si sconforta?
Non pianger più, non m’ài tu pianto assai?
ch’ or fostu vivo com’ io non son morta!”
343
Ripensando a quel ch’ oggi il Cielo onora
soave sguardo, al chinar l’aurea testa,
al volto, a quella angelica modesta
voce che m’addolciva et or m’accora,
gran meraviglia ò com’ io viva ancora;
né vivrei già, se chi tra bella e onesta
qual fu più lasciò in dubbio, non si presta
fusse al mio scampo là verso l’aurora.
O che dolci accoglienze et caste et pie!
et come intentamente ascolta et nota
la lunga istoria de le pene mie!
Poi che ’l dì chiaro par che la percota,
tornasi al Ciel, ché sa tutte le vie,
umida li occhi et l’una et l’altra gota.
342
The food with which my lord always abounds,
sorrow and tears, I feed my weary heart;
I tremble often, often I turn pale
when I think of its deep and bitter wound.
But she, who had no equal or a second
when she was living, comes to my sickbed—
I hardly dare to gaze on such a one—
and full of pity she sits on the edge.
Then with that hand which I so much desired
she dries my eyes and brings me with her words
sweetness no mortal man has ever felt:
“What good,” she says, “is knowledge with despair?
Stop weeping. Have you not wept enough for me?
Were you as much alive as I’m not dead!”
343
Recalling that which Heaven now esteems:
sweet look, the tilting of her golden head,
the face, and that angelic modesty
of voice which sweetened once and now makes sad,
I am amazed that I am still alive;
nor would I live if she who makes one doubt
whether she is more lovely or more chaste,
were not so quick to help me when dawn comes.
Oh what sweet welcomings, so chaste and kind!
And with what concentration she takes note
of the long history of my sufferings!
When light of day appears to strike her image,
to Heaven she returns—she knows the ways—
her eyes and both her cheeks bathed in her tears.
344
Fu forse un tempo dolce cosa amore
(non per ch’ i’ sappia il quando), or è si amara
che nulla più; ben sa ’l ver chi l’impara
com’ ò fatt’ io, con mio grave dolore.
Quella che fu del secol nostro onore,
or è del Ciel che tutto orna et rischiara,
fe’ mia requie a’ suoi giorni et breve et rara;
or m’à d’ogni riposo tratto fore.
Ogni mio ben crudel Morte m’à tolto,
né gran prosperità il mio stato avverso
po consolar di quel bel spirto sciolto.
Piansi et cantai; non so più mutar verso,
ma di et notte il duol ne l’alma accolto
per la lingua et per li occhi sfogo et verso.
345
Spinse amor et dolor ove ir non debbe
la mia lingua, aviata a lamentarsi,
a dir di lei per ch’ io cantai et arsi
quel che, se fusse ver, torto sarebbe;
ch’ assai ’l mio stato rio quetar devrebbe
quella beata, e ’l cor racconsolarsi
vedendo tanto lei domesticarsi
con colui che vivendo in cor sempre ebbe.
Et ben m’acqueto, et me stesso consolo,
né vorrei rivederla in questo inferno,
anzi voglio morire et viver solo;
ché più bella che mai con l’occhio interno
con li angeli la veggio alzata a volo
a pie’ del suo et mio Signore eterno.
344
Perhaps there was a time when love was sweet
(although I know not when), but now there’s nothing
more bitter! He well knows the truth who learns
the way I have through my hard suffering.
She who once was the glory of our world
is now of Heaven which she makes bright and lovely;
she made my rest in her time brief and rare,
and now she has deprived me of all peace.
Cruel Death robbed me of all the good I had,
nor does great bliss of her free, lovely soul
afford my adverse state some consolation.
I wept and sang; I cannot change my ways:
but night and day the grief my soul collected
I pour forth with my tongue and through my eyes.
345
My tongue so used to grieving has been urged
by love and grief to move in the wrong way:
to say of her for whom I sang and burned
that which, if it were true, would not be right.
Her blessedness should be enough to quiet
my sad condition and console my heart:
the fact that she is so at home with Him
who while she lived was always in her heart.
And I am calmed and do console myself;
nor would I want to see her in this hell,
I would prefer to die and live alone.
More beautiful then ever my mind’s eye
beholds her with the angels high in flight
at the feet of her and my eternal Lord.
346
Li angeli eletti et l’anime beate
cittadine del Cielo, il primo giorno
che Madonna passò, le fur intorno
piene di meraviglia et di pietate.
“Che luce è questa et qual nova beltate?”
dicean tra lor: “perch’ abito si adorno
dal mondo errante a quest’alto soggiorno
non sali mai in tutta questa etate.”
Ella, contenta aver cangiato albergo,
si paragona pur coi più perfetti
et parte ad or ad or si volge a tergo,
mirando s’io la seguo, et par ch’ aspetti;
ond’ io voglie et pensier tutti al Ciel ergo
perch’ i’ l’odo pregar pur ch’ i’ m’affretti.
347
Donna che lieta col Principio nostro
ti stai, come tua vita alma rechiede,
assisa in alta et gloriosa sede
et d’altro ornata che di perle o d’ostro,
o de le donne altero et raro mostro:
or nel volto di lui che tutto vede
vedi ’l mio amore et quella pura fede
per ch’ io tante versai lagrime e ’nchiostro,
et senti che ver te il mio core in terra
tal fu qual ora è in Cielo, et mai non volsi
altro da te che ’l sol de li occhi tuoi.
Dunque per amendar la lunga guerra
per cui dal mondo a te sola mi volsi,
prega ch’ i’ venga tosto a star con voi.
346
The chosen angels and the blessèd souls
of Heaven’s citizens, on the first day
my lady passed away, surrounded her,
all full of wonder and of reverence.
“What light is this, and what unusual beauty,”
they said to one another, “for so lovely
a soul in all this time has never risen
out of the erring world to this high home.”
She, happy to have changed her dwelling place,
is equal to the most perfected souls;
meanwhile, from time to time, she turns to see
if I am following her, and seems to wait,
so all my thoughts and wishes strain to Heaven—
I even hear her praying that I hurry.
347
Lady, now happy in our Maker’s presence
as your reward for such a holy life,
seated upon a high and glorious throne,
adorned with other things than pearls and purple,
O lofty and rare wonder among ladies:
now in the face of Him who sees all things
you see my love and that pure faith of mine
for which I poured such tears and so much ink,
you know my heart felt for you then on earth
what it feels now in Heaven—I never wanted
more from you than the sunlight of your eyes.
So then, to make amends for the long war
which turned me from the world to you alone,
pray that I come, and soon, to be with you.
348
Da’ più belli occhi, et dal più chiaro viso
che mai splendesse, et da’ più bei capelli
che facean l’oro e ’l sol parer men belli,
dal più dolce parlare et dolce riso,
da le man, da le braccia che conquiso
senza moversi avrian quai più rebelli
fur d’Amor mai, da’ più bei piedi snelli:
da la persona fatta in paradiso
prendean vita i miei spirti; or n’à diletto
il Re celeste, i suoi alati corrieri,
et io son qui rimaso ignudo et cieco.
Sol un conforto a le mie pene aspetto:
ch’ ella che vede tutt’ i miei penseri
m’impetre grazia ch’ i’ possa esser seco.
349
E’ mi par d’or in ora udire il messo
che Madonna mi mande a sé chiamando;
così dentro et di for mi vo cangiando,
et sono in non molt’anni si dimesso
ch’ a pena riconosco omai me stesso:
tutto ’l viver usato ò messo in bando.
Sarei contento di sapere il quando,
ma pur devrebbe il tempo esser da presso.
O felice quel di che del terreno
carcere uscendo, lasci rotta et sparta
questa mia grave et fraie et mortal gonna
et da si folte tenebre mi parta,