214. ‘Anzi tre dí creata era alama in parte’ (Sestina)

that made it care for what is noble and new,

and made it scorn what many prize.

Then still unsure of its fated path,

thoughtful, in solitude, young and free,

it came in springtime to a lovely wood.

There was a tender flower born in that wood

a day before, and rooted in such a place

that no spirit could approach it and be free:

for there were snares, in a manner new,

and pleasure driving me along my path,

so loss of freedom there would win the prize.

Dear, sweet, noble and hard-won prize,

that drew me swiftly into the green wood

that makes us stray from the middle path!

And I’ve searched the world from place to place

for verses, stones, juice of herbs, strange and new,

that one day might set my mind free.

But, alas, I see the body will be free

of that knot, that is the greater prize,

before medicine, ancient or new,

heals the wounds received in that wood,

so full of thorns I issued from that place

limping, who entered happily on my path.

Full of snares and brambles, a hard path

for me to follow, where nimble, free

sound feet were needed in every place.

But you, Lord, with that mercy we prize,

stretch your hand towards me in this wood:

let your sun dispel the shadows strange and new.

Care for my being: guard it from these new

wanderings that, interrupting my life’s path,

have made me a dweller in the shadowy wood:

render, if you can, my errant soul, free

and unfettered, and let yours be the prize

if I find it, at last, with You, in a better place.

Now hear in this place, my questions ever new:

is there anything in me to prize, is this the path,

is my soul free, or imprisoned in the wood?

Notes