Ripensando a quel, ch'oggi il cielo honora,
soave sguardo, al chinar l'aurea testa,
al volto, a quella angelica modesta
voce che m'adolciva, et or m'accora,
gran meraviglia ò com'io viva anchora:
né vivrei già, se chi tra bella e honesta,
qual fu piú, lasciò in dubbio, non sí presta
fusse al mio scampo, là verso l'aurora.
O che dolci accoglienze, et caste, et pie;
et come intentamente ascolta et nota
la lunga historia de le pene mie!
Poi che 'l dí chiaro par che la percota,
tornasi al ciel, ché sa tutte le vie,
humida gli occhi et l'una et l'altra gota.
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Thinking of her, who now honours Heaven,
the gentle glance, the bowing head of gold,
the face, the voice of angelic modesty
that sweetened my life, and now grieves me,
I find it a great wonder that I still live:
nor would I be living if she who made us doubt
whether she was more lovely or more virtuous,
was not quick to rescue me, towards dawn.
O how sweet, and chaste, and kind her greeting:
and how intently she listens and takes note
of the long story of my pain!
Then when the clear daylight seems to strike her,
she returns to Heaven, knowing every path,
and her eyes and both her cheeks are wet.
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