Petrarch (39 page)

“Nessun mi tocchi,” al bel collo d’intorno

scritto avea di diamanti et di topazi.

“Libera farmi al mio Cesare parve.”

Et era ’l sol già vòlto al mezzo giorno,

gli occhi miei stanchi di mirar, non sazi,

quand’ io caddi ne l’acqua et ella sparve.

My ship
full of forgetful cargo sails

through rough seas
at the midnight of a winter

between
Charybdis and the Scylla reef
,

my
master
, no, my foe, is at the helm;

at each oar sits a
quick and insane thought

that seems to scorn the storm and what it brings;

the sail
, by wet eternal winds of sighs,

of hopes and of desires blowing, breaks;

a rain of tears, a
mist of my disdain

washes and frees
those all too weary ropes

made up of wrong entwined with ignorance.

Hidden are those
two trusty signs
of mine;

dead in the waves
is reason as is skill
,

and I despair of ever reaching port.

A doe of purest white
upon green grass

wearing
two horns of gold
appeared to me

between two streams
beneath a laurel’s shade

at sunrise in that
season not yet ripe
.

The sight of her was so sweetly austere

that I left all my work to follow her,

just like a miser
who in search of treasure

with pleasure makes his effort bitterless.

“No one touch me,”
around her lovely neck

was written out in diamonds, and in topaz:

“It pleased
my Caesar
to create me free.”

The sun by now had
climbed
the sky midway,

my eyes were tired but not full from looking

when I
fell in the water
and she vanished.

Sì come eterna vita è veder Dio

né più si brama né brama più lice,

cosi me, Donna, il voi veder felice

fa in questo breve et fraile viver mio.

Né voi stessa com’ or bella vid’ io

giamai, se vero al cor l’occhio ridice,

dolce del mio penser ora beatrice

che vince ogni alta speme, ogni desio!

Et se non fusse il suo fuggir sì ratto,

più non demanderei; ché s’ alcun vive

sol d’odore et tal fama fede acquista,

alcun d’acqua o di foco, e ’l gusto e ’l tatto

acquetan cose d’ogni dolzor prive,

i’ perché non de la vostra alma vista?

Stiamo, Amor, a veder la gloria nostra,

cose sopra Natura altere et nove.

Vedi ben quanta in lei dolcezza piove,

vedi lume che ’l Cielo in terra mostra;

vedi quant’arte dora e ’mperla e ’nostra

l’abito eletto et mai non visto altrove,

che dolcemente i piedi et gli occhi move

per questa di bei colli ombrosa chiostra!

L’erbetta verde e i fior di color mille

sparsi sotto quell’elce antiqua et negra

pregan pur che ’l bel pe’ li prema o tocchi,

e ’l ciel di vaghe et lucide faville

s’accende intorno e ’n vista si rallegra

d’esser fatto seren da si belli occhi.

Just as eternal life is seeing God,

no greater wish is there nor wish more right,

so, lady, to behold you makes me happy

during this short and fragile life of mine.

I’ve never seen you look more beautiful

than now, if my eyes tell my heart the truth,

sweet time of day
that blesses all my thoughts,

surpassing all high hope
, every desire.

And
were it not so quick
to run away,

I would not ask for more; for if some
live

on smell alone (and this has
gained belief
),

on water or on fire
, their taste and touch

appeased by things deprived of
every sweetness
,

why cannot I on your sustaining sight?

Let us stay
, Love, and gaze upon our glory

on high and wondrous things
surpassing Nature
.

Look well how much sweetness rains down on her,

you see the light that shows earth what is heaven;

see how much skill empearls and gilds and colors

that noble bearing
never seen before
,

which sweetly
puts in motion
feet and eyes

through shady cloisters
of these lovely hills.

Green grass and flowers of a thousand colors

scattered beneath that
oak ancient and black

beg for her lovely feet to touch
or press them
;

and all the sky with bright and
loving sparks

is set ablaze and visibly rejoices

to have been
made serene
by eyes so lovely.

Pasco la mente dun sì nobil cibo

ch’ ambrosia et nettar non invidio a Giove,

ché sol mirando, oblio ne l’alma piove

d’ogni altro dolce, et Lete al fondo bibo.

Talor ch’ odo dir cose e ’n cor describo

per che da sospirar sempre ritrove,

ratto per man d’Amor (né so ben dove)

doppia dolcezza in un volto delibo;

ché quella voce infin al ciel gradita

suona in parole sì leggiadre et care

che pensar nol poria chi non l’à udita.

Allor inseme in men d’un palmo appare

visibilmente quanto in questa vita

Arte, Ingegno, et Natura e ’l Ciel po fare.

L’aura gentil che rasserena i poggi,

destando i fior per questo ombroso bosco,

al soave suo spirto riconosco

per cui conven che ’n pena e ’n fama poggi.

Per ritrovar ove ’l cor lasso appoggi,

fuggo dal mi’ natio dolce aere tosco;

per far lume al penser torbido et fosco

cerco ’l mio sole et spero vederlo oggi;

nel qual provo dolcezze tante et tali

ch’ Amor per forza a lui mi riconduce,

poi sì m’abbaglia che ’l fuggir m’è tardo.

I’ chiedrei a scampar non arme, anzi ali,

ma perir mi dà ’l ciel per questa luce,

ché da lunge mi struggo et da presso ardo.

My mind is nourished by a food so noble

I do not envy Jove his sweet ambrosia:

just seeing her
my soul
rains with oblivion

of other sweetness—I drink up
all of Lethe
.

When I hear things
I write them in my heart

to have them always there to sigh about;

rapt by the hand
of Love,
I know not where
,

I taste a
double sweetness
at one time:

that voice
which pleases even high as Heaven

resounds in words so charming and so cherished,

who has not heard it
cannot understand
.

Then all together
, in less than a span,

appears to sight
all that which in this life

Nature and Art, Heaven and Wit can do.

The gracious breeze
that clears the hills again

awakening flowers
through this shady woods,

I recognize by its soft flowing breath,

which makes me rise
in labor and in fame
.

To find a place
to lean my weary heart

I flee my sweet and native Tuscan air;

to give light to my dark and turbid thought

I seek and hope to see
my sun today
;

in it I find so much and
such a sweetness

that Love is forced to lead me back to her,

and then she dazzles me, and
fleeing is slow
.

Not arms
but wings
I would need to escape,

but Heaven would have me perish in this light;

I suffer when I’m far and burn when close.

Di dì in dì vo cangiando il viso e ’l pelo,

né però smorso i dolci inescati ami

né sbranco i verdi et invescati rami

de l’arbor che né sol cura né gelo.

Senz’ acqua il mare et senza stelle il cielo

fia innanzi ch’ io non sempre tema et brami

la sua bell’ombra, et ch’ i’ non odi’ et ami

l’alta piaga amorosa che mal celo.

Non spero del mio affanno aver mai posa

infin ch’ i’ mi disosso et snervo et spolpo,

o la nemica mia pietà n’avesse.

Esser po in prima ogni impossibil cosa

ch’ altri che Morte od ella sani ’l colpo

ch’ Amor co’ suoi belli occhi al cor m’impresse.

L’aura serena che fra verdi fronde

mormorando a ferir nel volto viemme

fammi risovenir quand’ Amor diemme

le prime piaghe sì dolci profonde,

e ’l bel viso veder ch’ altri m’asconde,

che sdegno o gelosia celato tiemme,

et le chiome, or avolte in perle e ’n gemme,

allora sciolte et sovra or terso bionde,

le quali ella spargea sì dolcemente

et raccogliea con sì leggiadri modi

che ripensando ancor trema la mente.

Torsele il tempo poi in più saldi nodi

et strinse ’l cor d’un laccio sì possente

che Morte sola fia ch’ indi lo snodi.

From day to day my
face and hair are changing
,

but I still bite the sweetly
baited hook

and hold tight to the green and enlimed branches

of
the tree that has no care
of cold or heat.

The sea will
lose its water, sky its stars

before I fear no longer and desire

her lovely shade, and I not love and hate

the deep and loving wound I hide so badly.

I do not hope to ever rest my labors

until I am deboned
, defleshed, demuscled,

or till
my enemy
shows me her pity.

All things that cannot be
will be before

another or she or Death will heal the wound

that Love with her fair eyes made in my heart.

The tranquil aura
that comes murmuring

through the green leaves and strikes against my brow

makes me remember when Love gave to me

for the first time his wounds so sweet and deep,

and lets me see the lovely face she hides

which
jealousy or anger
keeps from me,

and her hair, gathered now in pearls and gems

and flowing then more blonde than
furbished gold
,

which she was
wont to loosen
with such sweetness

and gather up again so charmingly—

that
thinking of it
makes my mind still tremble.

Then in still
tighter knots
time wound her hair

and bound my heart with cord that is so strong

that only Death can
free it from such ties
.

L’aura celeste che ’n quel verde lauro

spira ov’ Amor ferì nel flanco Apollo

et a me pose un dolce giogo al collo,

tal che mia libertà tardi restauro,

po quello in me che nel gran vecchio mauro

Medusa quando in selce transformollo;

né posso dal bel nodo omai dar crollo

là ’ve il sol perde, non pur l’ambra o l’auro,

dico le chiome bionde e ’l crespo laccio

che sì soavemente lega et stringe

l’alma, che d’umiltate et non d’altro armo.

L’ombra sua sola fa ’l mio cor un ghiaccio

et di bianca paura il viso tinge,

ma gli occhi ànno vertù di farne un marmo.

L’aura soave al sole spiega et vibra

l’auro ch’ Amor di sua man fila et tesse;

là da’ belli occhi et de le chiome stesse

lega ’l cor lasso e i lievi spirti cribra.

Non ò medolla in osso o sangue in fibra

ch’ i’ non senta tremar pur ch’ i’ m’apresse

dove è chi morte et vita inseme, spesse

volte, in fraie bilancia appende et libra,

vedendo ardere i lumi ond’ io m’accendo,

et folgorare i nodi ond’ io son preso

or su l’omero destro et or sul manco.

I’ nol posso ridir, ché nol comprendo,

da ta’ due luci è l’intelletto offeso

et di tanta dolcezza oppresso et stanco.

The heavenly aura breathing in that green laurel

where Love wounded Apollo in his side,

and placed
a yoke of sweetness
on my neck

from which it is too late to free myself,

has power like Medusa’s
when the old

and famous Moor she transformed into rock;

nor can I now break loose the lovely knot

which gold and
amber
and the sun surpasses:

I mean her golden hair, the
curly snare

that with such softness binds and tightens round

my soul
armed only with humility
.

Her shadow
is enough to turn my heart

to ice and tinge my face
with whitened fear
—

her eyes, however, can turn them
into marble
.

The gentle aura
spreads and waves
in sunlight

the gold Love spins and weaves with his own hands;

there with her lovely eyes and hair she
binds

my weary heart and lifts my vital spirits.

The marrow of my bones, my
blood’s own fiber

all tremble
just to come into the presence

of one who often weighs and balances

my life and death upon a fragile scale,

to see
those lights
that burn and make me burn

and
those locks
which have bound me, shimmering

on her
right shoulder
now, then on her left.