A Daily Countdown to 700 Years with the “colpi d’Amor”
“Benedetto sia ‘l giorno, et ‘l mese, et l’anno, / et la stagione, e’l tempo, et l’ora, e ‘l punto…” — Rvf 61
“Blessed be the day, and the month, and the year, and the season, and the time, and the hour, and the moment…”(Kline).
Orso, e’ non furon mai fiumi né stagni,
né mare, ov’ogni rivo si disgombra,
né di muro o di poggio o di ramo ombra,
né nebbia che ‘l ciel copra e ‘l mondo bagni,
né altro impedimento, ond’io mi lagni,
qualunque piú l’umana vista ingombra,
quanto d’un vel che due begli occhi adombra,
et par che dica: Or ti consuma et piagni.
Et quel lor inchinar ch’ogni mia gioia
spegne o per humiltate o per argoglio,
cagion sarà che ‘nanzi tempo i’ moia.
Et d’una bianca mano ancho mi doglio,
ch’è stata sempre accorta a farmi noia,
et contra gli occhi miei s’è fatta scoglio.
Orso, there never was lake or river
or sea, into which all rivers flow,
or shadow of wall, or branch, or hill,
or cloud hiding the sky, bathing the world,
or other obstacle, to make me grieve,
however much it masked human sight,
as the veil that shadows two lovely eyes,
and says by it: ‘Now pine away and weep.’
And then the lowering of them from humility
or pride, so all my joy is dimmed,
is the reason I die before my time.
And I grieve for a white hand too
often lifted shrewdly to do me harm,
and rising like a rock before my eyes.