O cameretta che già fosti un porto
a le gravi tempeste mie diürne,
fonte se' or di lagrime nocturne,
che 'l dí celate per vergogna porto.
O letticciuol che requie eri et conforto
in tanti affanni, di che dogliose urne
ti bagna Amor, con quelle mani eburne,
solo ver 'me crudeli a sí gran torto!
Né pur il mio secreto e 'l mio riposo
fuggo, ma piú me stesso e 'l mio pensero,
che, seguendol, talor levommi a volo;
e 'l vulgo a me nemico et odïoso
(ch 'l pensò mai?) per mio refugio chero:
tal paura ò di ritrovarmi solo.
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O little room that was once a refuge
from those grave diurnal storms of mine,
you are a fountain now of nocturnal tears
which I carry hidden by day from shame.
O little couch that was rest and comfort
in so many torments, from what sad urns
does Love bathe you, with those ivory hands
so wrongly cruel to me alone!
I do not flee from privacy and rest
as much as from my self and from my thoughts,
which lifted me in flight when I followed them:
and I yearn for the hostile and odious crowd
(who would ever have thought it?) as a refuge:
I have such fear of finding myself alone again.
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