312. ‘Né per sereno ciel ir vaghe stelle,’

Not the stars that wander the calm sky,

nor ships scattered over the peaceful sea,

nor armoured knights crossing the field,

nor bright slender creatures among the trees:

nor fresh news of some hoped-for good

nor words of love in high and ornate style,

nor among clear fountains and green grass

the sweet singing of lovely virtuous women:

nor anything at all can touch the heart,

she buried with her in that sepulchre,

who was sole light and mirror to my eyes.

It pains me to live so heavily and long

who call for death, in my great desire, again,

to see one it were better never to have seen.