267. ‘Oimè il bel viso, oimè il soave sguardo,’

ah me, the graceful noble manner of her:

ah me, the speech that made every harsh

and bitter mind humble, and every coward brave!

And, ah me, the sweet smile, from which the arrow

of death, the only good I hope for now, issued:

regal soul, worthiest to reign,

if only you had not descended so late among us!

It is fitting that I burn for you, and breathe for you,

since I am yours: and if I am parted from you,

I suffer less from all my other grief.

You filled me with hope and with desire,

when I departed, living, from the highest delight:

but the wind did not carry my words to you.

Notes