231. ‘I’ mi vivea di mia sorte contente’

I had lived contented with my fate,

without tears, not envying anyone,

since if any lover had better fortune,

his thousand joys were not worth my torment.

Now, the lovely eyes of which I never will

regret the pain, and wish not one pain less,

are misted over, so heavily, so darkly,

that my life’s sun is almost quenched.

O Nature, merciful and savage mother,

how can you will such contrary things

to create and then un-create so lightly?

All power flows from one living fountain:

and how can You consent, O heavenly Father,

to another spoiling your beloved gift?