Di pensier in pensier, di monte in monte
I am guided by Amor, ch' ogni segnato calle
I feel contrary to the tranquil life.
If in a lonely shore, stream or fountain,
if between two hills sits a shady valley,
there the bewildered soul calms down;
and as Love envies it,
now laughs, now weeps, now fears, now cares;
And the countenance that follows her where she leads him
is troubled and reassured,
And in a little time it lasts;
Whereupon a man of such a sight experienced
Diria: This one burns, et of his state is uncertain.
Over high mountains and through rugged forests I find
some rest: every inhabited place
is mortal enemy of my eyes.
At each step a new thought arises
Of my lady, who often at stake
Turns the torment I bear for her;
And with pain I would
Canter this bitter sweet life of mine,
Which I say: Perhaps Love will serve you too
At a better time;
Maybe, to yourself vile, others you are dear.
And here I sigh in this passing:
Would it be true? Or how? Now when?
Where a tall pine tree or a hill
Wherever a shadow casts me, and yet in the first stone
I draw with my mind his lovely face.
When I return to myself, I find the soft bosom
of pity; and then I say: O alas,
Where have you come! And where have you parted!
But while I keep my mind fixed
I can wander to the first thought,
and gaze at her, and obliterate myself,
I hear Love so near,
that of her own error the soul is satisfied:
In so many parts and so beautiful I see her,
that if error lasted, I'd know no more.
I have it many times (now who would believe me?)
In clear water and over green grass
I saw it alive, and in the trunk of a beech
and in a white cloud, so made that Leda
would have well said that her daughter loses,
as a star that covers the sun with its ray;
And how much more wildly
I find myself and in a more deserted shore,
so much more beautiful my thought overshadows it.
Then when the truth clears away
That sweet error, even there itself I sit
Cold, dead stone in living stone,
Like a man who thinks and weeps and writes.
Where no other mountain's shadow touches me,
towards the greatest and most expeditious yoke
an intense desire grips me;
So I begin to measure my losses with my eyes
and in the meantime I weep and vent
A painful mist condenses my heart,
when I gaze and think
how much air from my lovely face departs
That is always so near and so far.
I think to myself softly:
What do you know, alas? Perhaps in that part
now of your distance one sighs.
And in this thought the soul breathes.
Song, beyond that alp
There where the sky is more serene and happy
You'll see me again over a flowing stream,
Where the breeze is felt
With a fresh and odoriferous graduation.
There is my heart, and the one that takes me away;
Here you can see my lonely image.
I am guided by Amor, ch' ogni segnato calle
I feel contrary to the tranquil life.
If in a lonely shore, stream or fountain,
if between two hills sits a shady valley,
there the bewildered soul calms down;
and as Love envies it,
now laughs, now weeps, now fears, now cares;
And the countenance that follows her where she leads him
is troubled and reassured,
And in a little time it lasts;
Whereupon a man of such a sight experienced
Diria: This one burns, et of his state is uncertain.
Over high mountains and through rugged forests I find
some rest: every inhabited place
is mortal enemy of my eyes.
At each step a new thought arises
Of my lady, who often at stake
Turns the torment I bear for her;
And with pain I would
Canter this bitter sweet life of mine,
Which I say: Perhaps Love will serve you too
At a better time;
Maybe, to yourself vile, others you are dear.
And here I sigh in this passing:
Would it be true? Or how? Now when?
Where a tall pine tree or a hill
Wherever a shadow casts me, and yet in the first stone
I draw with my mind his lovely face.
When I return to myself, I find the soft bosom
of pity; and then I say: O alas,
Where have you come! And where have you parted!
But while I keep my mind fixed
I can wander to the first thought,
and gaze at her, and obliterate myself,
I hear Love so near,
that of her own error the soul is satisfied:
In so many parts and so beautiful I see her,
that if error lasted, I'd know no more.
I have it many times (now who would believe me?)
In clear water and over green grass
I saw it alive, and in the trunk of a beech
and in a white cloud, so made that Leda
would have well said that her daughter loses,
as a star that covers the sun with its ray;
And how much more wildly
I find myself and in a more deserted shore,
so much more beautiful my thought overshadows it.
Then when the truth clears away
That sweet error, even there itself I sit
Cold, dead stone in living stone,
Like a man who thinks and weeps and writes.
Where no other mountain's shadow touches me,
towards the greatest and most expeditious yoke
an intense desire grips me;
So I begin to measure my losses with my eyes
and in the meantime I weep and vent
A painful mist condenses my heart,
when I gaze and think
how much air from my lovely face departs
That is always so near and so far.
I think to myself softly:
What do you know, alas? Perhaps in that part
now of your distance one sighs.
And in this thought the soul breathes.
Song, beyond that alp
There where the sky is more serene and happy
You'll see me again over a flowing stream,
Where the breeze is felt
With a fresh and odoriferous graduation.
There is my heart, and the one that takes me away;
Here you can see my lonely image.
