Petrarch Page 16

  and when you leave the two of them return;

  but since my memory, so much in love,

  will not allow them entrance,

  they get no further than the surface parts.

  So if some lovely fruit

  grows out of me, from you first comes the seed;

  I see myself an arid piece of land

  that’s tilled by you—the praise all goes to you.

  Song, you instead of calming make me burn

  to tell about what steals me from myself;

  and so be sure that you are not alone.

  72

  I see, my gracious lady,

  when your eyes move, the sweetness of a glow

  that lights the way for me that leads to Heaven;

  and there, as is its custom,

  within, where I sit all alone with Love,

  your heart shines through—and I can almost see it.

  This is the sight that leads me to do well

  and shows me how to reach the goal of glory,

  and this alone sets me apart from others.

  There is no human tongue

  that ever could explain what those divine

  two lights can make me feel,

  neither when winter scatters all the frost

  nor later when the year grows young again

  as it was at the time of my first yearning.

  Io penso: se là suso,

  onde ’l motor eterno de le stelle

  degnò mostrar del suo lavoro in terra,

  son l’altr’opre sì belle,

  aprasi la pregione ov’ io son chiuso

  et che 1 camino a tal vita mi serra!

  Poi mi rivolgo a la mia usata guerra,

  ringraziando Natura e ’l di ch’ io nacqui

  che reservato m’ànno a tanto bene,

  et lei ch’ a tanta spene

  alzo il mio cor (ché ’nsin allor io giacqui

  a me noioso et grave,

  da quel di inanzi a me medesmo piacqui),

  empiendo d’un pensier alto et soave

  quel core ond’ ànno i begli occhi la chiave.

  Né mai stato gioioso

  Amor o la volubile Fortuna

  dieder a chi più fur nel mondo amici,

  ch’ i’ nol cangiassi ad una

  rivolta d’occhi ond’ ogni mio riposo

  vien come ogni arbor vien da sue radici.

  Vaghe faville angeliche, beatrici

  de la mia vita, ove ’l piacer s’accende

  che dolcemente mi consuma et strugge:

  come sparisce et fugge

  ogni altro lume dove ’l vostro splende,

  così de lo mio core,

  quando tanta dolcezza in lui discende,

  ogni altra cosa, ogni penser va fore

  et solo ivi con voi rimanse Amore.

  Quanta dolcezza unquanco

  fu in cor d’aventurosi amanti, accolta

  tutta in un loco, a quel ch’ i’ sento è nulla,

  quando voi alcuna volta

  soavemente tra ’l bel nero e ’l bianco

  volgete il lume in cui Amor si trastulla;

  et credo da le fasce et da la culla

  al mio imperfetto, a la fortuna avversa,

  questo rimedio provedesse il cielo.

  I think: if up above,

  where the eternal Mover of the stars

  deigned to display this work of His on earth,

  there be more works so lovely,

  then let the prison I am locked in open

  which keeps me from the way to such a life!

  Then I return to my accustomed war,

  grateful to Nature and my day of birth

  which have reserved for me so great a good,

  and her who, to such hope,

  raised up my heart (for until then I lay

  heavy and hard to bear

  but from then on a pleasure to myself)

  filling with high and gracious thought that heart

  for which those lovely eyes possess the key.

  Never such happiness

  did Love or ever-changing Fortune give

  to those who were their closest friends in life

  that I would not exchange

  for one glance of those eyes where all my rest

  comes from, as every tree comes from its roots.

  Angelic sparks of loveliness, the blessers

  of all my life, wherein flares up the pleasure

  sweetly consuming and destroying me:

  as every other light

  will flee and fade whenever yours shines forth,

  just so from my own heart,

  when so much sweetness pours down into it,

  all else, all of my other thoughts depart

  and left there all alone with you is Love.

  All sweetness ever found

  in hearts of lucky lovers and collected

  all in one place, is nothing next to what

  I feel when you, at times,

  sweetly within the lovely black and white,

  make move the light in which Love takes delight.

  And I believe from swaddling clothes and crib

  that for my imperfection and bad fortune

  this remedy the heavens have provided.

  Torto mi face il velo

  et la man che si spesso s’atraversa

  fra ’l mio sommo diletto

  et gli occhi, onde di et notte si rinversa

  il gran desio per isfogare il petto

  che forma tien dal variato aspetto.

  Perch’ io veggio, et mi spiace,

  che natural mia dote a me non vale

  né mi fa degno d’un si caro sguardo,

  sforzomi d’esser tale

  qual a l’alta speranza si conface

  et al foco gentil ond’ io tutto ardo.

  S’ al ben veloce et al contrario tardo,

  dispregiator di quanto ’l mondo brama

  per solicito studio posso farme,

  porrebbe forse aitarme

  nel benigno iudicio una tal fama;

  certo, il fin de’ miei pianti,

  che non altronde il cor doglioso chiama,

  ven da’ begli occhi al fin dolce tremanti,

  ultima speme de’ cortesi amanti.

  Canzon, l’una sorella è poco inanzi

  et l’altra sento in quel medesmo albergo

  apparecchiarsi, ond’ io più carta vergo.

  Your veil does me a wrong

  as does your hand that often comes between

  my highest of all pleasures

  and my own eyes, so night and day pours forth

  my great desire to relieve my heart

  which takes its shape from your own changing look.

  Since I can see, with sorrow,

  that all my natural gifts are not enough

  to make me worthy of so dear a glance,

  I force myself to be

  what is becoming to so high a hope

  and noble fire in which all of me burns.

  If swift to good and slow to what is ill,

  condemner of what all the world desires,

  I could become through persevering toil,

  perhaps such reputation

  could help me in her kind consideration.

  Surely, an end to tears

  my grieving heart invokes from that place only

  will come at last from fair eyes sweetly trembling,

  ultimate hope of every noble lover.

  Song, just behind you is one of your sisters,

  and in the same place I can feel the other

  getting ready, and so I rule more paper.

  73

  Poi che per mio destino

  a dir mi sforza quell’accesa voglia

  che m’à sforzato a sospirar mai sempre,

  Amor, ch’ a ciò m’invoglia,

  sia la mia scorta e ’nsignimi ’l camino

  et col desio le mie rime contempre;

 
ma non in guisa che lo cor si stempre

  di soverchia dolcezza, com’ io temo

  per quel ch’ i’ sento ov’ occhio altrui non giugne;

  ché ’l dir m’infiamma et pugne

  né per mi’ ’ngegno (ond’ io pavento et tremo)

  si come talor sòle

  trovo ’l gran foco de la mente scemo,

  anzi mi struggo al suon de le parole

  pur com’ io fusse un uom di ghiaccio al sole.

  Nel cominciar credia

  trovar parlando al mio ardente desire

  qualche breve riposo et qualche triegua;

  questa speranza ardire

  mi porse a ragionar quel ch’ i’ sentia,

  or m’abbandona al tempo et si dilegua.

  Ma pur conven che l’alta impresa segua

  continuando l’amorose note,

  si possente è ’l voler che mi trasporta,

  et la ragione è morta

  che tenea ’l freno et contrastar nol pote.

  Mostrimi almen ch’ io dica

  Amor in guisa che, se mai percote

  gli orecchi de la dolce mia nemica,

  non mia ma di pietà la faccia amica.

  Dico: se ’n quella etate

  ch’ al vero onor fur gli animi sì accesi

  l’industria d’alquanti uomini s’avolse

  per diversi paesi,

  poggi et onde passando et l’onorate

  cose cercando, e’ l più bel fior ne colse;

  poi che Dio et Natura et Amor volse

  locar compitamente ogni virtute

  73

  Since it has been my fate

  for my own burning wish to make me write

  the wish that forced me to eternal sighing,

  Love, you who makes me want this,

  show me the way to go and be my guide

  and keep my verse in tune with my desire,

  but not so that my heart is out of tune

  with sweetness overflowing, as I fear

  from what I feel where no eye ever reaches;

  for my words burn and urge me,

  nor does my talent (whence I fear and tremble),

  as oftentimes it happens,

  diminish the great fire of my mind;

  rather, I melt when I hear my own words,

  as if I were a snowman in the sun.

  When I began I thought

  to find some brief repose, some kind of truce

  for my inflamed desire through my words;

  this hope of mine made me

  daring enough to speak of what I felt,

  now in my need it leaves me and dissolves.

  But still I must pursue this lofty venture,

  continuing to write my loving notes,

  so powerful the will that transports me;

  and dead is Reason now

  who held the reins and cannot fight against it.

  At least let Love show me

  what I must say so that if by some chance

  it strike the ears of my sweet enemy

  it may make her, not mine, but pity’s friend.

  I say, if in that age

  when souls burned so in search of the true honor,

  the industry of some men took them round

  and through the different countries

  past hills and seas in search of honored things

  and plucked from them their loveliest of flowers;

  since it was wished by God and Love and Nature

  to fill most perfectly with every virtue

  in quei be’ lumi ond’ io gioioso vivo,

  questo et quell’altro rivo

  non conven ch’ i’ trapasse et terra mute:

  a lor sempre ricorro

  come a fontana d’ogni mia salute,

  et quando a morte disiando corro,

  sol di lor vista al mio stato soccorro.

  Come a forza di venti

  stanco nocchier di notte alza la testa

  a’ duo lumi ch’ à sempre il nostro polo,

  così ne la tempesta

  ch’ i’ sostengo d’amor, gli occhi lucenti

  sono il mio segno e ’l mio conforto solo.

  Lasso, ma troppo è più quel ch’ io ne ’nvolo

  or quinci or quindi, come Amor m’informa,

  che quel che ven da grazioso dono;

  et quel poco ch’ i’ sono

  mi fa di loro una perpetua norma;

  poi ch’ io li vidi in prima

  senza lor a ben far non mossi un’orma,

  così gli ò di me posti in su la cima

  che ’l mio valor per sé falso s’estima.

  I’ non poria giamai

  imaginar, non che narrar, gli effetti

  che nel mio cor gli occhi soavi fanno;

  tutti gli altri diletti

  di questa vita ò per minori assai,

  et tutte altre bellezze in dietro vanno.

  Pace tranquilla senza alcuno affanno,

  simile a quella ch’ è nel ciel eterna,

  move da lor inamorato riso;

  così vedess’ io flso

  come Amor dolcemente gli governa

  sol un giorno da presso

  senza volger giamai rota superna,

  né pensasse d’altrui né di me stesso,

  e ’l batter gli occhi miei non fosse spesso!

  Lasso, che disiando

  vo quel ch’ esser non puote in alcun modo,

  those lovely lights by which I live in joy,

  there is no need for me

  to change countries or pass from shore to shore:

  to them I always go

  as to the source of all of my well-being—

  and when I run desirous toward death,

  with their sight only do I help my state.

  Just as the helmsman tired

  by furious winds will lift his head at night

  to those two lights that our pole always holds,

  so in the storm of love

  which I endure, those shining eyes of hers

  are my sole comfort and my constellation.

  Alas, but much more do I steal from them

  now here, now there, as Love suggests I do,

  than what comes from them as a gracious gift;

  the little worth I have

  I have from them as my perpetual norm;

  from the first time I saw them

  I took no step toward good without them there,

  so I have placed them at my very summit,

  for my own worth alone is valueless.

  Never could I imagine,

  and no less tell about, all the effects

  those gentle eyes produce within my heart;

  all of the other pleasures

  found in this life I hold to be far less,

  and every other beauty falls behind.

  A tranquil peace without a single worry

  like that which reigns eternally in Heaven

  moves from their smile that holds and makes one love.

  Could I but see fixedly

  how Love in all his sweetness governs them

  up close, for just one day,

  with none of the celestial spheres in motion,

  nor think of anyone nor of myself,

  without blinking my eyes too frequently!

  Alas, I go in search

  of what can never be in any way

  et vivo del desir fuor di speranza.

  Solamente quel nodo

  ch’ Amor cerconda a la mia lingua quando

  l’umana vista il troppo lume avanza

  fosse disciolto, i’ prenderei baldanza

  di dir parole in quel punto si nove

  che farian lagrimar chi le ’ntendesse.

  Ma le ferite impresse

  volgon per forza il cor piagato altrove,

  ond’ io divento smorto

  e ’l sangue si nasconde, i’ non so dove,

  né rimango qual era; et sommi accorto

  che questo �
� ’l colpo di che Amor m’à morto.

  Canzone, i’ sento già stancar la penna

  del lungo et dolce ragionar con lei,

  ma non di parlar meco i pensier mei.

  74

  Io son già stanco di pensar si come

  i miei pensier in voi stanchi non sono

  et come vita ancor non abbandono

  per fuggir de’ sospir sì gravi some;

  et come a dir del viso et de le chiome

  et de’ begli occhi ond’ io sempre ragiono

  non è mancata omai la lingua e ’l suono,

  di et notte chiamando il vostro nome;

  et che’ pie’ miei non son fiaccati et lassi

  a seguir l’orme vostre in ogni parte,

  perdendo inutilmente tanti passi;

  et onde vien l’enchiostro, onde le carte

  ch’ i’ vo empiendo di voi (se ’n ciò fallassi,

  colpa d’Amor, non già defetto d’arte).

  and I live in desire beyond hope.

  If only the tight knot

  which Love ties round my tongue on the occasion

  when too much light wins over human sight

  were loosened, I would gather up the courage

  right then and there to speak words so unusual

  they would make anyone who hears them weep.

  But those wounds deeply pressed

  then force my wounded heart to turn away,

  and from this I turn pale,

  and my blood runs to hide, I know not where,

  nor am I what I was; and I’m aware

  this is the blow with which Love dealt me death.

  Song, I can feel my pen already tired

  from talking long and sweetly by its means,

  but not of all my thoughts that speak to me.

  74

  I am already weary of my thinking

  how all my thoughts of you are never weary

  and how I haven’t yet abandoned life

  to flee the burden of such heavy sighs;

  and how, in speaking of your face and hair

  and lovely eyes I always talk about,

  I have not lost my tongue and voice by now

  from calling out your name by day and night;

  and that my feet are not worn out and tired

  of following your footprints everywhere,

  and wasting uselessly so many steps;

  and where does all the ink come from, the paper

  I fill with you—if I am wrong in this,

  the fault is Love’s and not the lack of art.

  75

  I begli occhi ond’ i’ fui percosso in guisa

  ch’ e’ medesmi porian saldar la piaga,

  et non già vertù d’erbe o d’arte maga