252. ‘In dubbio di mio stato, or piango or canto,’

Uncertain of my state, now I weep, now sing,

and fear and hope: and in sighs and verses

pour out my cares: Love uses his weapons

against my heart, that’s so afflicted.

Now will that lovely sacred face ever

restore its first light to these eyes

(alas, I do not know if I deserve it)

or condemn them to eternal weeping:

and in going to heaven, as is her due,

has she no care for those on earth,

to whom she is the sun, there is no other?

In such fear, in such perpetual war

I live, and no longer know what I once was,

like he who fears and errs on a winding road.