I dí miei piú leggier' che nesun cervo,
fuggîr come ombra, et non vider piú bene
ch'un batter d'occhio, et poche hore serene,
ch'amare et dolci ne la mente servo.
Misero mondo, instabile et protervo
del tutto è cieco chi 'n te pon sua spene:
ché 'n te mi fu 'l cor tolto, et or sel tène
tal ch'è già terra, et non giunge osso a nervo.
Ma la forma miglior, che vive anchora,
et vivrà sempre, su ne l'alto cielo,
di sue bellezze ogni or piú m'innamora;
et vo, sol in pensar, cangiando il pelo,
qual ella è oggi, e 'n qual parte dimora,
qual a vedere il suo leggiadro velo.
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These days of mine, faster than a hind,
fly like shadows, and I have seen no more good
than an eye-wink, and few are the calm hours,
whose bitterness and sweetness I keep in mind.
Wretched world, violent and changeable,
wholly blind is he who sets his hopes on you:
my heart was stolen away from you, and now is taken
by one who is already earth, and looses sinew from bone.
But the better form of her that lives, still,
and lives forever, in the high heavens,
makes me more in love now with all her beauties:
and I see, only in thought, as my hair whitens,
what she is today, and in what place she is,
and what it was to see her graceful veil.
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