Anima bella da quel nodo sciolta
che piú bel mai non seppe ordir Natura,
pon' dal ciel mente a la mia vita oscura,
da sí lieti pensieri a pianger volta.
La falsa opinïon dal cor s'è tolta,
che mi fece alcun tempo acerba et dura
tua dolce vista: omai tutta secura
volgi a me gli occhi, e i miei sospiri ascolta.
Mira 'l gran sasso, donde Sorga nasce,
et vedra'vi un che sol tra l'erbe et l'acque
di tua memoria et di dolor si pasce.
Ove giace il tuo albergo, et dove nacque
il nostro amor, vo' ch'abbandoni et lasce,
per non veder ne' tuoi quel ch'a te spiacque.
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While my heart was being consumed
by loving worms, burned in loving fire,
I searched for traces of a wandering creature
through the solitary enclosing hills:
and was so ardent singing of the grief
of Love, of her who seemed so cruel:
but wit and verse came meagrely,
in those days, to my young and feeble mind.
That fire is dead, and a little marble hides it:
a fire that if it had increased with time
(as it has in others) as far as my old age,
armed with verses, where everything disarms me,
I would, with that mature style, have made stones
shatter with my speaking, and weep with sweetness.
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