239. ‘Là ver’ l’aurora, che si dolce l’aura’ (Sestina)

over the fresh spring earth stirs the flowers,

and the little birds begin their song,

I feel my thoughts stirred within my soul,

so sweetly by her who has them in her power,

that I must turn again to my own music.

If I could tune my sighs to such gentle music

as Laura makes with the sweetening breeze,

showing her the reason why I’m in her power!

But sooner will winter be the season of flowers,

than love will flourish in that noble soul,

that never cared for my rhymes or song.

How many tears, alas, and how much song

have I scattered in my time, and with what music

have I tried again and again to soften her soul!

She remains a harsh mountain in the breeze,

a sweet one that stirs the grass and flowers,

but has no strength against her greater power.

Men and gods were overcome by the power

of Love, as we read in prose and song:

and I proved at the first opening of the flowers.

Now neither my Lord nor his music

nor my tears or prayers can make this breeze

carry off, from life or torment, this my soul.

In time of greatest need, O wretched soul,

gather all your wits about you, and your power,

while among us there is still this living breeze

Nothing on earth’s impossible for song,

and it can charm the serpent with its music,

besides adorning ice with fresh flowers.

Now the meadows smile with grass and flowers,

it cannot be that her angelic soul

does not hear the sound of loving music.

But if my cruel fate has the greater power,

sing and weep together will be our song,

and with a lame ox go to catch the breeze.

I catch the breeze with a net, seed ice with flowers,

and hold with song a deaf unyielding soul,

indifferent to Love’s power and my music.

Notes