Oeyes of mine, our sun is overcast,
Is risen in Paradise and there doth shine,
But we shall look upon her at the last
Who doth perchance through our long tarrying pine;
O ears of mine, now her angelic speech
Is culled by those who its full meaning know;
O feet of mine, you have not power to reach
Her on whose errands you were wont to go!

Why thus torment me? Through no fault of mine
She hath passed out of hearing and of sight
And doth no longer dwell upon the earth;
Blame death alone and worship God divine,
Who binds and frees, in darkness kindleth light
And giveth after sorrowing His mirth.

O VALLEY, filled with my despairful words,
O river that my tears have richly fed,
O creatures of the forest, happy birds,
O fishes that green banks have prisoned;
Breath of desire, serene and passionate,
O pleasant path grown wearisome, O hill
That once I counted dear but now do hate,
Where, as of old, Love doth entice me still;

You are not changed whom I remember well,
But I am otherwise, O misery,
Who from delight to bitterest sorrow fell!
Here where I loved I do return and see
Madonna's spirit wafted to the skies,
Whilst upon earth her lovely body lies.

LEVOMMi il mio penser in pane ov' era quella ch' io cerco e non ritrovo in terra: ivi, fra lor che 'l terzo cerchio serra, la rividi più bella e meno altera. Per man mi prese e disse: "In questa spera sarai ancor meco, se 'l desir non erra: i' so' colei che ti die' tanta guerra, e compie' mia giornata innanzi sera.

Mio ben non cape in intelletto umano: te solo aspetto e, quel che tanto amasti e là giuso è rimaso, il mio bel velo." Deh, perchè tacque? et allargò la mano? ch' al suon de' detti sì pietosi e casti poco mancò ch' io non rimasi in cielo.

I' vo piangendo i miei passati tempi,
i quai posi in amar cosa mortale
senza levarmi a volo, abbiend' io l' ale
per dar forse di me non bassi esempi.
Tu, che vedi i miei mali indegni et empi,
Re del cielo, invisibile, immortale,
soccorri a l' alma disviata e frale,
e 'l suo defetto di tua grazia adempi:

sì che, s'io vissi in guerra et in tempesta, mora in pace et in porto, e se la stanza fu vana, almen sia la partita onesta. A quel poco di viver che m'avanza ed al morir degni esser tua man presta: tu sai ben che 'n altrui non ho speranza.

My thoughts go forth to the abiding place
Of her I seek below and cannot find;
In the third circle I beheld her face
In beauty more compassionate to my mind.
She clasped my hand and said: "Within this sphere
Thou too shalt be, so my desire speak well;
Lo, I am she who wrought thee torment here
And died before the shades of evening fell.
My bliss no mortal mind can understand,
My spirit waits on thee, to dust is given
The lovely veil once precious in thy eyes."
Alas, why did she pause and loose my hand?
So chastely and so mercifully shriven,
I did believe I was in Paradise.

I Do repent me of departed days
In which I laid up treasure on the earth,
And did not use my wings unto Thy praise,
Though haply they were given to prove my worth.
My sins are manifest before Thy face,
O Lord of Heaven, invisible, divine,
Grant to my frail and erring spirit grace,
My weakness lift with potency of Thine:

Thus, though I lived in tempest and at strife,
Yet I may die in tranquil port at last,
Though vain the pilgrimage, its end be well!
O grant me so to live the rest of life
That I may die in Thee on Whom are cast
My hopes that in no other temple dwell.

Giovanni Boccaccio, 1313-1375

Io mi son giovinetta, e volentieri
m'allegro e canto en la stagion novella,
merzè d' amore e de' dolci pensieri.

Io vo pe' verdi prati riguardando
I bianchi fiori e' gialli et i vermigli,
le rose in su le spini e i bianchi gigli;
e tutti quanti gli vo somigliando
al viso di colui, che me, amando,
ha presa e terrà sempre, come quella
ch' altro non ha in disio che' e' suoi piaceri.

De' quai quando io ne truovo alcun che sia, al mio parer, ben simile di lui, il colgo e bacio e parlomi con lui, e com' io so, così l' anima mia tututta gli apro, e ciò che 'l cor disia: quindi con altri il metto in ghirlandella legato co' miei crin biondi e leggieri.

E quel piacer, che di natura il fiore agli occhi porge, quel simil me 'l dona che s'io vedessi la propia persona che m' ha accesa del suo dolce amore; quel che mi faccia più il suo odore, esprimer no 'l potrei con la favella; ma i sospiri ne son testimon veri.

Li quai non escon già mai del mio petto, come dell' altre donne, aspri nè gravi, ma se ne vengon fuor caldi e soavi, et al mio amor sen vanno nel cospetto; il qua!, come gli sente, a dar diletto di sè a me si muove, e viene in quella ch' i' son per dir: "Deh vien, ch' i' non disperi!" Giovanni Boccaccio, 1313-1375

I Am young and fain to sing
In this happy tide of spring

Of love and many a gentle thing.
I wander through green meadows dight

With blossoms gold and red and white;

Rose by the thorn and lily fair,

Both one and all I do compare

With him who, worshipping my charms,

For aye would fold me in his arms

As one unto his service sworn.
Then, when I find a flower that seems

Like to the object of my dreams,

I gather it and kiss it there,

I flatter it in accents fair,

My heart outpour, my soul stoop down,

Then weave it in a fragrant crown

Among my flaxen locks to wear.

The rapture nature's floweret gay
Awakes in me doth last alway,
As if I tarried face to face
With him whose true love is my grace;
Thoughts which its fragrancy inspires
I cannot frame to my desires,
My sighs their pilgrimage do trace.

My sighs are neither harsh nor sad
As other women's are, but glad
And tender; in so fond a wise
They seek my love that he replies
By coming hither, and so gives
Delight to her who in him lives
Yet almost wept: "Come, for hope dies."