343. ‘Ripensando a quell, ch’oggi il cielo honora,’

Thinking of her, who now honours Heaven,

the gentle glance, the bowing head of gold,

the face, the voice of angelic modesty

that sweetened my life, and now grieves me,

I find it a great wonder that I still live:

nor would I be living if she who made us doubt

whether she was more lovely or more virtuous,

was not quick to rescue me, towards dawn.

O how sweet, and chaste, and kind her greeting:

and how intently she listens and takes note

of the long story of my pain!

Then when the clear daylight seems to strike her,

she returns to Heaven, knowing every path,

and her eyes and both her cheeks are wet.