330. ‘Quel vago, dolce, caro, honesto sguardo’

That loving, sweet, dear, virtuous gaze

seemed to say: ‘Take of me what you can,

since you’ll never see me here again,

when you’ve once moved those feet, slow to go.’

Intellect, swifter than the leopard,

yet slow to anticipate your grief, why

did you not see in her eyes what you

see now, that burns and consumes me?

Silently gleaming beyond their custom,

they said: ‘O friendly eyes that for so long

and with such sweetness made us your mirror,

heaven waits for us: to you it seems too early:

but he who tied the knot, here, dissolves it,

and wills that you, to grieve you, grow older.’