Ogni cosa ch' io veggio mi consiglia.
EACH thing I see brings argument and force,
And counsels me to follow you and love:
For all that is not you, is not my good.
Love, which all other marvels disregards,
Wills for my good that you alone I seek,
My single sun; and thus it holds the soul
Void of all other hope, and all desire,
Desiring I should burn, and live,
Not for you only, but for that which bears
The light reflected from your looks, your eyes;
And he who separates from you,
Ye eyes, my life, has afterwards no light;
For where ye' are absent, Heaven indeed is not.
How shall I e'er have power,
Taken from you, to keep myself in life,
Unable if at parting to invoke
Your aid? These plaints, these sorrowings, these sighs,
With which my grieving heart still follows you,
With cruel indication, lady, show
My near approaching death, my sufferings.
But lest by absence you forgetful prove
How I have served you with all faithfulness,
As a remembrance of my long-borne woes
I leave to you my heart, which is not mine.
Veggio co' bei vostri occhi un dolce lume.
THROUGH your clear eyes I view a beauteous light,
That my dark sight would ever seek in vain;
With your firm steps a burden I support,
Which my weak power was never used to bear.
I soar aloft, unplumed, upon your wings,
By your intelligence to Heaven am raised;
Your smile or frown maketh me pale or red,
Cold in the sun, warm 'mid severest chills:
In your will is mine own will ever fixed,
My thoughts find birth and growth within your heart;
My words are from your spirit only drawn;
And like the moon, alone in heaven, I seem,
That to our eyes were indiscernible,
Save by that light which from the sun proceeds.
Mentre ch' alla beltà ch' io vidi in prima.
WHILST to that Beauty which at first I saw
The soul is drawn, which through the eyes beholds,
The image grows within,-the soul retires,
Distrusts itself, esteems not its own powers.
Love, which all art and each device employs,
That I may longer live, returns to me,
Studying to' assure and reinstate the soul,
Whose power Love guides alone and elevates.
I know my ills, and comprehend the truth;
That whilst Love arms himself in my defence,
Himself destroys me,—more, the more I yield.
My heart is compass'd in between two deaths;
I fly from this, and comprehend not that,
And in escaping the soul, struggling dies.
Non so figura alcuna immaginarmi.
I CAN no image figure to myself
Of naked shadow, or of earthly cast,
With highest thought, such that my ardour might
Therewith against thy beauty arm itself.
Parted from thee, I seem to fall so low,
My heart of every power is bereft :
And thinking to diminish, I augment
My pain, and thus it comes to bring me death.
It then avails me not to spur my flight,
Whilst Beauty as a foe still follows me:
The tardy cannot fly the swifter pace.
Love with his hands doth dry my tearful eyes,
And promises to soften every toil;
Nor is that valueless which costs so much.
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