341. ‘Deh qual pietà, qual angel fu sí presto’

Ah what mercy, what angel was so swift

to carry my grief to the heavens? I feel

my lady turn to me still, as before,

in that sweet chaste way of hers,

so filled with humility, empty of pride,

to ease my wretched and gloomy heart,

so that in short I turn away from death,

and live, and living no longer hurts me.

Blessed be her who can bless others

with sight of her, more so with words,

understood by the two of us alone:

‘My faithful friend, I grieve with you,

but I was harsh only for our own good.’

this she said, and other things to halt the sun.