39. ‘Io temo sí de’ begli occhi l’assalto’

in which Love and my death exist,

I run from them like a child from the rod,

and it’s long since I first took that step.

There is no difficult or high place

from now on, I would not reach

to avoid what scatters my senses

leaving me as if I were cold enamel.

So if I turned towards you only lately

not to be nearer what consumes me,

perhaps I am not without a true excuse.

More, to return to the place I fled from,

and free my heart from such deep fear,

is no light testimony to my loyalty.

Note: Assumed to be written to a friend in Provence.

Notes