56. ‘Se col cieco desir che ‘l cor distrugge’

If, through blind desire that destroys the heart,

I do not deceive myself counting the hours,

now, while I speak these words, the time nears

that was promised to pity and myself.

What shade is so cruel as to blight the crop

which was so near to a lovely harvest?

And what wild beast is roaring in my fold?

What wall is set between the hand and grain?

Ah, I do not know: but I see only too well

that in joyous hope love led me on

only to make my life more sorrowful.

And now I remember words that I have read:

before the day of our final parting

we should not call any man blessed.

Note: See Ovid: Metamorphoses iii. 136-7 for one possible source of the last lines.