295. ‘Soleano I miei penser’ soavemente’

My thoughts used to talk sweetly

together about their concern:

‘Pity is here, and repents of being late:

perhaps she speaks of us, with hope, or fear.’

Now the last day and the final hour

have taken this present life from her,

she sees, hears, feels my state, in heaven:

I can have no other hope of her.

O gentle miracle, O happy soul,

O peerless beauty, noble and rare,

returned too soon where it came from!

There she’s crowned in honour for her goodness

who was so famous, shining, in the world

through her great virtues, and my passion.