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Heavenly Father, after the lost days,
Turning your eyes on my strange colour
If you, with signs of your unease,
Alas, how unprepared I was at first
The heavy air, and the oppressive cloud,
On the left shore of the Tyrrhenian Sea,
The sacred aspect of your native place,
Love, I well know our natural defences
Ah me, I don’t know where to seek for hope
I am already wearied with thinking
Those lovely eyes, that struck me in such guise
Love, with his beguiling promises
Polyclitus gazing fixedly a thousand years
When Simone had matched the high concept
If the middle and the end of these fourteen years,
He who is set on living out his life
I’m so wearied by the ancient burden,
I have never tired of love for you,
If both my temples time it seems is greying
Weep, eyes: accompany the heart
I’ve always loved, and I love deeply still,
I always hate that window from which Love
As soon as ever he has launched his arrows,
Because my hope takes too long to mature,
Fleeing the prison where Love for many years
She let her gold hair scatter in the breeze
The lovely lady who you loved so dearly
Weep, ladies, and let Love weep with you:
How often Love’s already said to me: ‘Write,
When through my eyes the image of my lady
If I could imprison in my verses
I’m so defeated now, in appearance,
Ah precious freedom, how you’ve shown me
Orso, you can easily bridle your warhorse,
Since you and I have seen how our hope
That window where one sun is seen
Alas, I well know that he who pardons
When Ptolemy the Egyptian traitor
Hannibal conquered, and yet did not know
The visible courage, that flowered in you
Now I don’t wish to sing as I used to do,
A new young angel carried by her wings
I see no way now I can free myself:
This soil is happier than any other,
Alas, when Love makes his assaults on me,
Love pursuing me to my old haunts,
The lady whose looks are always in my mind,
Sennuccio, I want you to know in what manner
Here, where I’m half myself, my Sennuccio,
From the impious Babylon, from which
Between two noble lovers on either side,
Full of that ineffable sweetness
If the rock by which this valley’s closed,
My sixteenth year of sighs is left behind,
Now you see, Love, that this young lady