Amor, che meco al buon tempo ti stavi
fra queste rive, a' pensier' nostri amiche,
et per saldar le ragion' nostre antiche
meco et col fiume ragionando andavi;
fior', frondi, herbe, ombre, antri, onde, aure soavi,
valli chiuse, alti colli et piagge apriche,
porto de l'amorose mie fatiche,
de le fortune mie tante, et sí gravi;
o vaghi habitator' de' verdi boschi,
o ninphe, et voi che 'l fresco herboso fondo
del liquido cristallo alberga et pasce:
i dí miei fur sí chiari, or son sí foschi,
come Morte che 'l fa; cosí nel mondo
sua ventura à ciascun dal dí che nasce.
|
Love who stayed with me when times were good
among these banks, friendly to our thoughts,
and to settle our old arguments
went talking with the river and with me:
flowers, leaves, turf, shade, cave, wave, gentle breeze,
closed valley, high hills and sunlit slopes,
a refuge from my lovers' troubles,
from my overwhelming, heavy fate:
O wandering dwellers in the green wood,
O nymphs, and you whom the fresh weed-filled depths
of liquid crystal feed and grant a home:
my day was so clear, and now's so dark,
like Death that made it so: in this world
each has his destiny from the day he's born.
|
