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).
Poco era ad appressarsi agli occhi miei
la luce che da lunge gli abbarbaglia,
che, come vide lei cangiar Thesaglia,
cosí cangiato ogni mia forma avrei.
Et s’io non posso transformarmi in lei
piú ch’i’ mi sia (non ch’a mercé mi vaglia),
di qual petra piú rigida si ‘ntaglia
pensoso ne la vista oggi sarei,
o di diamante, o d’un bel marmo biancho,
per la paura forse, o d’un dïaspro,
pregiato poi dal vulgo avaro et scioccho;
et sarei fuor del grave giogo et aspro,
per cui i’ ò invidia di quel vecchio stancho
che fa con le sue spalle ombra a Marroccho.
If the light had neared my eyes a little
that dazzles me even when far away,
then, as she changed her form in Thessaly,
I would have changed my form completely.
And since I could not be transformed to be
more hers than I am already (not that it gains me pity),
I think my aspect today would be
carved from whatever stone is hardest,
from diamond, or from a fine marble, white
perhaps through fear, or from rock-crystal,
praised by the greedy and foolish crowd:
and be free of this savage and heavy yoke,
because of which I even envy that old man,
Atlas, whose shoulders shadow Morocco.