The Heavenly Birth Of Love And Beauty.

Non vider gli occhi miei.


I saw no mortal beauty with these eyes
        When perfect peace in thy fair eyes I found;
        But far within, where all is holy ground,
        My soul felt Love, her comrade of the skies:
For she was born with God in Paradise;
        Else should we still to transient loves be bound;
        But, finding these so false, we pass beyond
        Unto the Love of Loves that never dies.
Nay, things that die, cannot assuage the thirst
        Of souls undying; nor Eternity
        Serves Time, where all must fade that flourisheth.
Sense is not love, but lawlessness accurst:
        This kills the soul; while our love lifts on high
        Our friends on earth--higher in heaven through death.

Non è sempre di colpa.


Love is not always harsh and deadly sin:
        If it be love of loveliness divine,
        It leaves the heart all soft and infantine
        For rays of God's own grace to enter in.
Love fits the soul with wings, and bids her win
        Her flight aloft nor e'er to earth decline;
        'Tis the first step that leads her to the shrine
        Of Him who slakes the thirst that burns within.
The love of that whereof I speak, ascends:
        Woman is different far; the love of her
        But ill befits a heart all manly wise.
The one love soars, the other downward tends;
        The soul lights this, while that the senses stir,
        And still his arrow at base quarry flies.

Venne, non so ben donde.


It came, I know not whence, from far above,
        That clear immortal flame that still doth rise
        Within thy sacred breast, and fills the skies,
        And heals all hearts, and adds to heaven new love.
This burns me, this, and the pure light thereof;
        Not thy fair face, thy sweet untroubled eyes:
        For love that is not love for aught that dies,
        Dwells in the soul where no base passions move.
If then such loveliness upon its own
        Should graft new beauties in a mortal birth,
        The sheath bespeaks the shining blade within.
To gain our love God hath not clearer shown
        Himself elsewhere: thus heaven doth vie with earth
        To make thee worthy worship without sin.

Tu sa' ch' i' so, Signor mie.


Thou knowest, love, I know that thou dost know
        That I am here more near to thee to be,
        And knowest that I know thou knowest me:
        What means it then that we are sundered so?
If they are true, these hopes that from thee flow,
        If it is real, this sweet expectancy,
        Break down the wall that stands 'twixt me and thee;
        For pain in prison pent hath double woe.
Because in thee I love, O my loved lord,
        What thou best lovest, be not therefore stern:
        Souls burn for souls, spirits to spirits cry!
I seek the splendour in thy fair face stored;
        Yet living man that beauty scarce can learn,
        And he who fain would find it, first must die.

Per ritornar là.


As one who will reseek her home of light,
        Thy form immortal to this prison-house
        Descended, like an angel piteous,
        To heal all hearts and make the whole world bright.
'Tis this that thralls my soul in love's delight,
        Not thy clear face of beauty glorious;
        For he who harbours virtue, still will choose
        To love what neither years nor death can blight.
So fares it ever with things high and rare
        Wrought in the sweat of nature; heaven above
        Showers on their birth the blessings of her prime:
Nor hath God deigned to show Himself elsewhere
        More clearly than in human forms sublime;
        Which, since they image Him, alone I love.

I' mi credetti.


I deemed upon that day when first I knew
        So many peerless beauties blent in one,
        That, like an eagle gazing on the sun,
        Mine eyes might fix on the least part of you.
That dream hath vanished, and my hope is flown;
        For he who fain a seraph would pursue
        Wingless, hath cast words to the winds, and dew
        On stones, and gauged God's reason with his own.
If then my heart cannot endure the blaze
        Of beauties infinite that blind these eyes,
        Nor yet can bear to be from you divided,
What fate is mine? Who guides or guards my ways,
        Seeing my soul, so lost and ill-betided,
        Burns in your presence, in your absence dies?