243. ‘Fresco, ombroso, fiorito et verde colle,’

Fresh, shaded, flower-filled and verdant hill,

where she sits pensively or singing,

as one with faith in the celestial spirits,

and bearing fame away from all the world:

my heart that wished to leave me for her

(and with great sense no longer seeks return)

now goes searching out where her lovely feet

have pressed the grass, and these eyes have wet.

He walks with her, and says at every step:

‘Ah if that poor man could be here a while,

who’s tired already of weeping and of life!’

She smiles at this, and fate is unequal:

O advantaged sweet and sacred place,

you are paradise, I a heartless stone.