256. ‘Far potess’io vendetta di colei’

If I could take my vengeance on her

whose glances and words consume me,

and who then, to increase my pain, flees,

hiding those eyes so sweet and painful to me.

So my weary and afflicted spirits

little by little are exhausted,

and she roars like a lioness in my heart,

through the night when I need to sleep.

The soul, that Death drives from its place,

parts from me, and free of that net,

goes towards her who menaces.

I wonder if there are times indeed,

in my calls to it, my tears, embraces,

when her sleep is troubled, if she hears me.