189. ‘Passa la nave mia colma d’oblio’

My ship, full of oblivion, sails

on a bitter sea, at winter’s midnight,

between Scylla and Charybdis: at the helm

sits that Lord, or rather my enemy.

At each oar there’s a cruel eager thought,

that scorns the tempest and its end:

the sail’s torn by an eternal moist wind

of sighs, of hopes, and of desire.

A rain of tears, a mist of disdain

drench and slacken the already tired shrouds,

woven from error and ignorance.

My two usual guiding lights are so hidden:

reason and art so drowned by the waves,

that I begin to despair of finding harbour.