Se quell'aura soave de' sospiri
ch'i' odo di colei che qui fu mia
donna, or è in cielo, et anchor par qui sia,
et viva, et senta, et vada, et ami, et spiri,
ritrar potessi, or che caldi desiri
movrei parlando! sí gelosa et pia
torna ov'io son, temendo non fra via
mi stanchi, o 'ndietro o da man manca giri.
Ir dritto, alto, m'insegna; et io, che 'ntendo
le sue caste lusinghe e i giusti preghi
col dolce mormorar pietoso et basso,
secondo lei conven mi regga et pieghi,
per la dolcezza che del suo dir prendo,
ch'avria vertú di far piangere un sasso.
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If I could tell the fragrance of her gentle
sighing breath, she who used to be my lady,
now in heaven, and seeming still here,
living, feeling, walking, loving, breathing,
what warm passion I would rouse
by speaking! So pityingly and anxiously
she returns to me, fearing lest I weary
on the way, turn back, or go astray.
She points me higher, to what is right: and I,
who understand her chaste attentions
and just prayers, sweet murmurs soft and low,
must follow her commands and submit
to the sweetness I draw from her words,
that have the power to wring tears from stone.
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