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).
Quel foco ch’i’ pensai che fosse spento
dal freddo tempo et da l’età men fresca,
fiamma et martir ne l’anima rinfresca.
Non fur mai tutte spente, a quel ch’i’ veggio,
ma ricoperte alquanto le faville,
et temo no ‘l secondo error sia peggio.
Per lagrime ch’i’ spargo a mille a mille
conven che ‘l duol per gli occhi si distille
dal cor, ch’à seco le faville et l’ésca:
non pur qual fu, ma pare a me che cresca.
Qual foco non avrian già spento et morto
l’onde che gli occhi tristi versan sempre?
Amor, avegna mi sia tardi accorto,
vòl che tra duo contrari mi distempre;
et tende lacci in sí diverse tempre,
che quand’ò piú speranza che ‘l cor n’esca,
allor piú nel bel viso mi rinvesca.
That fire that I thought had been quenched
by chill time and declining years,
rekindles flame and suffering in the soul.
They were not wholly spent, as I can see,
those last embers, but covered over,
and I fear this second error will be worse.
With all the thousands of tears I weep
sorrow flowing from my heart distils
from my eyes: sparks and tinder are with me:
it is not as it was, but seems to flare higher.
What fire would not by now be spent and dead
on which these sad eyes were always turned?
Love, though I have been so slow to see it,
stretches me between two contraries:
and spreads his nets in such diverse ways,
that when I’ve most hope my heart will escape,
I can no longer retreat from her lovely face.