286. ‘Se quell’aura soave de’ sospiri’

If I could tell the fragrance of her gentle

sighing breath, she who used to be my lady,

now in heaven, and seeming still here,

living, feeling, walking, loving, breathing,

what warm passion I would rouse

by speaking! So pityingly and anxiously

she returns to me, fearing lest I weary

on the way, turn back, or go astray.

She points me higher, to what is right: and I,

who understand her chaste attentions

and just prayers, sweet murmurs soft and low,

must follow her commands and submit

to the sweetness I draw from her words,

that have the power to wring tears from stone.