6. ‘Sí travïato è ’l folle mi’ desio’

My passion’s folly is so led astray

by following what turns and flees,

and flies from Love’s light supple noose

in front of my slow pace,

that the more I recall its steps

to the safe road, the less it hears me:

nor does spurring on help me, or turning about,

resisting what Love does by nature.

And then if the bit gathers me to him by force,

I remain in his sovereign power,

so that my state carries me sadly towards death:

only to come to the laurel from which is culled

bitter fruit, whose taste is a worse wound

for others, whom it does not solace.