358. ‘Non pò far Morte il dolce viso amaro,’

Death cannot make that sweet face bitter,

but her sweet face can make Death sweet.

What better guide do I need to dying?

She shows me that from which I learn all good:

and He who was not sparing of His blood,

who with his foot shattered the gates of Hell,

seems by His dying to comfort me.

So come, Death: your coming is dear to me.

And don’t delay, now is the right time:

unless it had come at that point in time

when my lady passed from this life.

I’ve not been alive one day since then:

I was hers in life, and hers to the end,

and, with her footsteps, my days are gone.