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).
S’al principio risponde il fine e ‘l mezzo
del quartodecimo anno ch’io sospiro,
piú non mi pò scampar l’aura né ‘l rezzo,
sí crescer sento ‘l mio ardente desiro.
Amor, con cui pensier mai non amezzo,
sotto ‘l cui giogo già mai non respiro,
tal mi governa, ch’i’ non son già mezzo,
per gli occhi ch’al mio mal sí spesso giro.
Cosí mancando vo di giorno in giorno,
sí chiusamente, ch’i’ sol me n’accorgo
et quella che guardando il cor mi strugge.
A pena infin a qui l’anima scorgo,
né so quanto fia meco il mio soggiorno,
ché la morte s’appressa, e ‘l viver fugge.
If the middle and the end of these fourteen years,
in which I’ve sighed, should echo the beginning,
I’ll still have no more help from breeze or shade,
though I felt my passion’s flame increase.
Love, with whose thoughts I am ever one,
under whose yoke I must ever breathe,
so governs me I am only half a man,
turning my eyes too often towards my harm.
So I go wasting from day to day,
so secretly that only I’m aware
that it’s her look that destroys my heart.
I don’t know how long this final sorrow
I’ve brought the spirit to can stay with me,
since death is near, and life is fleeting.