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).
Se col cieco desir che ‘l cor distrugge
contando l’ore no m’inganno io stesso,
ora mentre ch’io parlo il tempo fugge
ch’a me fu inseme et a mercé promesso.
Qual ombra è sí crudel che ‘l seme adugge,
ch’al disïato frutto era sí presso?
et dentro dal mio ovil qual fera rugge?
tra la spiga et la man qual muro è messo?
Lasso, nol so; ma sí conosco io bene
che per far piú dogliosa la mia vita
amor m’addusse in sí gioiosa spene.
Et or di quel ch’i’ ò lecto mi sovene,
che ‘nanzi al dí de l’ultima partita
huom beato chiamar non si convene.
If, through blind desire that destroys the heart,
I do not deceive myself counting the hours,
now, while I speak these words, the time nears
that was promised to pity and myself.
What shade is so cruel as to blight the crop
which was so near to a lovely harvest?
And what wild beast is roaring in my fold?
What wall is set between the hand and grain?
Ah, I do not know: but I see only too well
that in joyous hope love led me on
only to make my life more sorrowful.
And now I remember words that I have read:
before the day of our final parting
we should not call any man blessed.