226. ‘Passer mai solitario in alcun tetto’

No sparrow on a roof, or beast in a wood

was ever as lonely, since I cannot see

her lovely face, and recognise no other sun,

nor do my eyes seek any other object.

The height of my delight is always to weep,

laughter is grief, wormwood and gall my food,

my nights troubled, the clear sky dark for me,

and my bed a harsh battlefield.

Sleep, as men say, is truly allied to death,

and the heart derives from it sweet thought

that keeps it still alive.

In all the world only you happy, kindly land,

green flowering river-banks, cool shadows,

possess the good I weep for.