55. ‘Quel foco ch’i’ pensai che fosse spento’

That fire that I thought had been quenched

by chill time and declining years,

rekindles flame and suffering in the soul.

They were not wholly spent, as I can see,

those last embers, but covered over,

and I fear this second error will be worse.

With all the thousands of tears I weep

sorrow flowing from my heart distils

from my eyes: sparks and tinder are with me:

it is not as it was, but seems to flare higher.

What fire would not by now be spent and dead

on which these sad eyes were always turned?

Love, though I have been so slow to see it,

stretches me between two contraries:

and spreads his nets in such diverse ways,

that when I’ve most hope my heart will escape,

I can no longer retreat from her lovely face.