271. ‘L’ardente nodo ov’io fui d’ora in hora,’

The burning knot that held me constantly

from hour to hour, for twenty years,

Death loosened, and I never felt such grief,

and know now man cannot die of tears.

Love, not wishing to lose me yet,

hid another snare in the grass,

and kindled a fresh fire with new tinder,

so I escaped but only with great pain.

And if I’d not had long experience

of trouble, I’d have been caught, and burned,

more so since the wood’s no longer green.

Death has freed me again, and broken

the knot, the fire is quenched and scattered:

against it neither force nor wit has power.