Light do I see within my Lady's eyes
And loving spirits in its plenisphere
Which bear in strange delight on my heart's care
Till Joy's awakened from that sepulchre.
Fresh new rose
By field and stream,
As I’ve no hope of returning ever,
Little ballad, lightly, softly,
Go yourself, to Tuscany,
Perch’i’ no spero di tornar giammai,
ballatetta, in Toscana,
va’ tu, leggera e piana,
dritt’ a la donna mia,
0 SLUGGISH, hard, ingrate, what doest thou?
Poor sinner, folded round with heavy sin,
Whose life to find out joy alone is bent.
Deep in thoughts of love, I came
On two young maids,
One sang: ‘It rains
On us, the joy of love.’
You have, in you, the leaves and flowers
All that shines and all that’s sweet to see:
Greater than the sun your face in splendour,
A lady asks me - I speak for that reason
Of an effect - that so often - is daring
And so haughty - he's called Amore:
O, my lady, have you not seen One
Who laid his hand on my heart, when
I answered you so softly, tamely,
Because I feared his blows?