202. ‘D’un bel chiaro polito et vivo ghiaccio’

The flame that burns me and destroys me

flows from lovely clear smooth living ice,

and so drains and dries the veins and heart

that I melt away almost invisibly.

Death, his arm already lifted for the blow,

like an angry thundering sky, or a roaring lion,

comes following my life that flies,

and I am mute, and tremble, filled with fear.

Mercy and Love combined might still stand

as a double column, to protect me

between the weary heart, and the mortal wound:

but I don’t believe so, nor see it in her face,

that sweet lady and enemy of mine:

nor do I blame her in this, but my ill fate.