105. ‘Mai non vo’ piú cantar com’io soleva,’

Now I don’t wish to sing as I used to do,

since no one understands, and I am mocked:

and one can be annoyed in a pleasant place.

Always sighing provides no relief:

snow’s already falling in the Alps all round:

and day is nearly here, so I’m awake.

A sweet honest action is a fine thing:

and it pleases me to see a loving woman

walking nobly and disdainfully,

not stubbornly and proudly:

Love rules his empire without a sword.

Let the man who’s lost his way turn back:

the man without a home, sleep on the grass:

the man without gold, or has lost it,

let him quench his thirst with glass.

I trusted in Saint Peter’s care: no more now:

let him understand who can, I understand.

An lasting evil is a burdensome thing:

when I can I free myself, and am alone.

Phaethon fell in the River Po, and died:

and the blackbird has already crossed the river:

ah, come and see it. Now I don’t wish to:

a rock amongst the waves is no joke,

or birdlime in the branches. It troubles me

when a sovereign pride

hides many virtues in a lovely lady.

There are some who answer when no one calls:

others vanish and flee those who beg them:

some there are who melt in the ice:

others who long for death day and night.

An ancient proverb: ‘Love those who love you’,

I know well what I’m saying: now let it go,

others must learn from their own hopes.

A humble lady makes a sweet friend suffer.

It’s hard to judge a fig. It seems to me

wise not to start too grand an undertaking:

and there are decent places in every land.

Infinite hope always kills:

and I have often been in trouble.

What little’s left to me

will not displease the one I give it to.

I put my trust in Him who rules the world,

and gives his followers shelter in the wood,

who with compassionate rod

will let me wander, least among his flock.

Perhaps not all who read this understand:

he often catches nothing who spreads his net:

and he who’s over-subtle breaks his neck.

Let not the law be slow for those who wait.

One goes down many miles to be at rest.

Things seem great wonders, and then are scorned.

A hidden loveliness is always sweeter.

Blessed be the key that turned in my heart,

and freed my soul, and cast away

such heavy chains,

and took infinities of sighs from me!

Another sorrows where I sorrowed more,

and makes my sorrow sweet by sorrowing,

so I thank Love

I feel what was no more, and it’s no less.

Shrewd and wise words in silence,

the sound that takes away all my cares,

a dark prison where there is much light:

violets at night along the shore,

wild beasts inside the walls,

sweet fear, and lovely custom,

a stream that flows in peace from two springs,

where I yearned, and gathered where I was:

Love and Jealousy have snatched my heart,

and the signs of that sweet face

that lead me on along a smoother path

towards my hope, and an end to trouble.

O my good returned, and all that follows,

now peace, now war, now truce,

but don’t abandon me in mortal dress.

I laugh and weep at all my torments past,

since I have so much faith in what I hear.

I like the present, and expect much better,

and go counting the years, and mute and crying.

I nest on a sweet branch, in such a way

that I can thank and praise the great refusal

that conquered the deep feeling at last,

and carved on my soul: ‘I would be heard,

and known for speaking’, and has erased

(the urge is so strong

I have to speak) ‘You weren’t bold enough’:

I write inside my heart more than on paper

for her who hurt my heart and then healed it:

for her who made me die and live,

who in a moment freezes me and warms me.

Note: Petrarch uses plain man’s proverbs, and speech, to produce a poem less easy to understand than his usual poetic speech, and to convey the paradoxes of his situation.