230. ‘I’ piansi, or canto, ché ’l celeste lume’

I wept, now I sing, that the celestial light

no longer hides the living sun from my eyes,

where chaste clear Love reveals

his sweet strength and his sacred custom:

from them he drew such floods of tears,

in shortening the thread of my life,

not only bridges, fords, oars, sails,

failed to rescue me, but feathered wings.

My tears were so deep and wide,

and the shore was so far away,

I could not reach it, even in fancy.

Now Pity brings me not the palm, or laurel,

but the peaceful olive and clear weather,

dries my tears, and wishes me still to live.