293. ‘S’io avesse pensato che sí care’

If I had thought the voice of my sighs

in verse would have been held so dear,

I’d have made them, from my first breath,

greater in number, purer in style.

She who made me write them is dead,

she who was the summit of my thoughts,

and I’m unable, and no longer have the skill,

to make harsh gloomy verses sweet and clear.

And in truth my efforts at that time

were to ease the saddened heart

in that manner, not to acquire fame.

I sought to weep, not gain honour from tears:

now would like to please: but that noble one

calls me, silent and weary, after her.