L'aura soave al sole spiega et vibra
l'auro ch'Amor di sua man fila et tesse
là da' begli occhi, et de le chiome stesse
lega 'l cor lasso, e i lievi spirti cribra.
Non ò medolla in osso, o sangue in fibra,
ch'i' non senta tremar, pur ch'i' m'apresse
dove è chi morte et vita inseme, spesse
volte, in frale bilancia appende et libra,
vedendo ardere i lumi ond'io m'accendo,
et folgorare i nodi ond'io son preso,
or su l'omero dextro et or sul manco.
I' nol posso ridir, ché nol comprendo:
da ta' due luci è l'intellecto offeso,
et di tanta dolcezza oppresso et stanco.
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The gentle breeze loosens, and stirs in the sun,
the gold Love spins and weaves with his own hand
near the lovely eyes, and binds my weary heart
with those very tresses, and lightens my spirits.
There's no marrow in my bones, nor blood
in my veins that doesn't feel the tremor,
when I'm near one who too often sets death
and life together in the balance,
seeing the fire blazing where I'm burned,
the knots glistening where I'm held,
now at her left shoulder, now her right.
I can't explain what I don't understand:
my mind's troubled by those double lights,
and oppressed and wearied by such sweetness.
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