Far potess'io vendetta di colei
che guardando et parlando mi distrugge,
et per piú doglia poi s'asconde et fugge,
celando gli occhi a me sí dolci et rei.
Cosí li afflicti et stanchi spirti mei
a poco a poco consumando sugge,
e 'n sul cor quasi fiero leon rugge
la notte allor quand'io posar devrei.
L'alma, cui Morte del suo albergo caccia,
da me si parte, et di tal nodo sciolta,
vassene pur a lei che la minaccia.
Meravigliomi ben s'alcuna volta,
mentre le parla et piange et poi l'abbraccia,
non rompe il sonno suo, s'ella l'ascolta.
|
If I could take my vengeance on her
whose glances and words consume me,
and who then, to increase my pain, flees,
hiding those eyes so sweet and painful to me.
So my weary and afflicted spirits
little by little are exhausted,
and she roars like a lioness in my heart,
through the night when I need to sleep.
The soul, that Death drives from its place,
parts from me, and free of that net,
goes towards her who menaces.
I wonder if there are times indeed,
in my calls to it, my tears, embraces,
when her sleep is troubled, if she hears me.
|
