212. ‘Beato in sogno et di languir contento,’

Blessed with sleep, and content with languor,

embracing shadows, and chasing the summer breeze,

I swim the sea without floor or shores,

plough waves, build on sand, write in air:

and I gaze after the sun, until, with its splendour,

it extinguishes all my powers of sight,

and I hunt a wandering and fugitive deer,

on a slow, rickety and infirm ox.

Weary and blind to all harm except my own

that I search after, trembling, day and night,

I call to Love, my Lady, and Death alone.

So, for twenty years long and heavy trouble,

I’m paid with tears and sighs and grief:

under that star I swallowed bait and hook.