283. ‘Discolorato ài, Morte, il piú bel volto’

Death, you’ve made the loveliest face I’ve seen,

turn pale, and dimmed the loveliest eyes:

freed the spirit brightest with blazing virtues,

from the most graceful and the loveliest knot.

You’ve taken all my good in a moment,

sealed the gentlest voice ever heard

with your silence, filled me with sorrow:

so whatever I see and hear annoys me.

My lady does return to console such grief,

here where Pity once more leads her:

and I find no other help in this life.

And if I could describe how she speaks,

and shines, I’d make not just men’s hearts

I say, but bears’ and tigers’ burn with love.