122. ‘Dicesette anni à già rivolto il cielo’

The heavens have revolved for seventeen years

since I first burned, and I am never quenched:

but when I think again about my state,

I feel a chill in the midst of flame.

The proverb is true, that our hair changes

before our vices, and though the senses slow

the human passions have no less intensity:

making a dark shadow to our heavy veil.

Alas, ah me, when will that day be,

when, gazing at the flight of my years,

I issue from the fire, and such long suffering?

Will the day come, ever, that only as I wish

the sweet air that adorns her lovely face

might please these eyes, and only as is fitting?