Del cibo onde 'l signor mio sempre abonda,
lagrime et doglia, il cor lasso nudrisco,
et spesso tremo et spesso impallidisco,
pensando a la sua piaga aspra et profonda.
Ma chi né prima simil né seconda
ebbe al suo tempo, al lecto in ch'io languisco
vien tal ch'a pena a rimirar l'ardisco,
et pietosa s'asside in su la sponda.
Con quella man che tanto desïai,
m'asciuga gli occhi, et col suo dir m'apporta
dolcezza ch'uom mortal non sentí mai.
" Che val - dice - a saver, chi si sconforta?
Non pianger piú: non m'ài tu pianto assai?
Ch'or fostú vivo, com'io non son morta!"
|
I feed my weary heart on that food,
sorrow and grief, in which my lord abounds,
and often I tremble, and often turn pale,
thinking of my deep and bitter wound.
But she, who in her life had no rival,
comes to the bed where I languish,
so that it's pain to me to dare to look,
and with pity she sits on the edge.
She dries my eyes, with that hand that roused
such desire in me, and with her words
brings sweetness never felt by mortal man:
'What point in knowledge, I say, that brings distress?
No more weeping: have you not wept enough?
Now you might live, since I am not dead!'
|
