Petrarch (29 page)

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!

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

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

eran quel di a vederle,

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.

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

co la sua propria man de’ miei martiri

dirô, perché i sospiri

parlando àn triegua et al dolor soccorro.

Dico che perch’ io miri

mille cose diverse attento et fiso,

sol una donna veggio e ’l suo bel viso.

Poi che la dispietata mia ventura

m’à dilungato dal maggior mio bene,

noiosa inesorabile et superba,

Amor col rimembrar sol mi mantene:

onde s’ io veggio in giovenil figura

incominciarsi il mondo a vestir d’erba,

parmi veder in quella etate acerba

la bella giovenetta ch’ ora è donna;

poi che sormonta riscaldando il sole,

parmi qual esser sòle

fiamma d’amor che ’n cor alto s’endonna;

ma quando il dì si dole

di lui che passo passo a dietro torni,

veggio lei giunta a’ suoi perfetti giorni.

In ramo fronde o ver viole in terra

mirando a la stagion che ’l freddo perde

et le stelle miglior acquistan forza,

ne gli occhi ò pur le violette e ’l verde

di ch’ era nel principio de mia guerra

Amor armato sì ch’ ancor mi sforza,

et quella dolce leggiadretta scorza

che ricopria le pargolette membra

dove oggi alberga l’anima gentile

ch’ ogni altro piacer vile

In that direction
which love urges me

I now must turn these verses full of sorrow,

the followers of my afflicted mind:

which
shall be last
, alas, and which the first?

The one who speaks to me about my ills

leaves me in doubt;
he dictates with confusion
.

Still
I shall tell the story
of my suffering

as much as I find written in his hand

within my heart which often I review,

so that my sighs have rest

and speaking is a help to all my grief.

I say that
, though I gaze

intent and fixed on a thousand different things,

I see one lady only, one fair face.

Because it was my pitiless misfortune

that sent me from that
greatest good of mine
,

painful
, inexorable, and proud,

Love gives me life through memory alone;

so if I see the world
in youthful guise

as it begins to clothe itself in green,

it is as if I see in unripe age

that beautiful young girl who’s
now a lady
;

and
once the sun has risen
warming things,

it seems that it is like

the
flame of love
that rules high in the heart;

but when the day laments

the
step by step retreating
of the sun,

I see her having
reached her perfect days
.

When I gaze
at the leaves upon a branch

or violets on the ground when cold grows less

and all
the better stars
have gained their force,

my eyes still see
the green and violets

with which
Love
at the outset of my war

was armed so that he drives me even now,

and that sweet lovely little
tender bark

that covers every tiny part of her

in which today there dwells the noble soul

that makes all other pleasure