38. ‘Orso, e´ non furon mai fiumi né stagni,’

Orso, there never was lake or river

or sea, into which all rivers flow,

or shadow of wall, or branch, or hill,

or cloud hiding the sky, bathing the world,

or other obstacle, to make me grieve,

however much it masked human sight,

as the veil that shadows two lovely eyes,

and says by it: ‘Now pine away and weep.’

And then the lowering of them from humility

or pride, so all my joy is dimmed,

is the reason I die before my time.

And I grieve for a white hand too

often lifted shrewdly to do me harm,

and rising like a rock before my eyes.

Note: Addressed to Orso dell’Anguillara.