Guido Cavalcanti (1250-1300)

Who is she coming, drawing all men’s gaze,

Who makes the air one trembling clarity

Till none can speak but each sighs piteously

Where she leads Love adown her trodden ways?

 

Ah God! The thing she’s like when her glance strays,

Let Amor tell. “T is no fit speech for me.

Mistress she seems of such great modesty

That every other woman were called “Wrath.”

 

No one could ever tell the charm she hath

For toward her all the noble Powers incline,

She being beauty’s godhead manifest.

 

Our daring ne’er before held such high quest;

Be ye! There is not in you so much grace

That we can understand her rightfully.

 

Chi è questa che vèn, ch’ogn’om la mira,
che fa tremar di chiaritate l’âre
e mena seco Amor, sì che parlare
null’ omo pote, ma ciascun sospira?

5O Deo, che sembra quando li occhi gira,
dical’ Amor, ch’i’ nol savria contare:
cotanto d’umiltà donna mi pare,
ch’ogn’altra ver’ di lei i’ la chiam’ ira.

Non si poria contar la sua piagenza,
10ch’a le’ s’inchin’ ogni gentil vertute,
e la beltate per sua dea la mostra.

Non fu sì alta già la mente nostra
e non si pose ’n noi tanta salute,
che propiamente n’aviàn conoscenza.

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