179. ‘Geri, quando talor meco s’adira’

Geri, one comfort’s granted me sometimes,

when my sweet enemy who is so proud

is angry with me, so I don’t wholly perish:

solely by means of which the soul can breathe.

Wherever she turns her disdainful eyes

(hoping by light to rob me of life?)

I show myself so full of humility, truly,

that all the force of her anger fails inside.

If it were not so, the sight of her would be

no different than the sight of Medusa’s face,

that made all the people there turn to marble.

So, do the same yourself: I see no other aid,

and our fleeing is no use to us at all,

given the wings that our lord deploys.

Note: Addressed to Geri dei Gianfigliazzi, in reply to a sonnet asking how to placate an angry lady.