WITHIN my bosom, from long apathy,
Love’s mood of tenderness extreme awoke,
And spying him far off, mine eye bespoke
Love’s self, so joyous scarce it seemèd he,
Crying: ‘Now, verily, pay thy vows to me!’
And bright thro’ every word his smile outbroke.
Then stood we twain, I in my liege lord’s yoke,
Watching the path he came by, soon to see
The Lady Joan and Lady Beatrice
Nearing our very nook, each marvel close
Following her peer, all beauty else above;
And Love said, in a voice like Memory’s:
‘The first is Spring; but she that with her goes,
My counterpart, bears my own name of Love!’
II.
‘Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare.’
SO chaste, so noble looks that lady mine
Saluting on her way, that tongues of some
Are mute a-tremble, and the eyes that clomb
High as her eyes, abashed, their gaze decline.
Thro’ perils of heard praise she moves benign,
Armored in her own meekness, as if come
Hither from Heaven, to give our Christendom
Even of a miracle the vouch divine.
So with beholders doth her worth avail,
It sheds, thro’ sight, a sweetness on the soul,
(Alas! how told to one that felt it never?)
And from her presence seemeth to exhale
A breath half-solace and of love the whole,
That saith to the bowed spirit ‘Sigh!’ forever.
III.
‘Era venuta nella mente mia.’
THERE came upon my mind remembrances
Of my lost lady, who for her reward
Is now set safe, by Heaven’s Most Highest Lord,
In kingdoms of the meek, where Mary is.
And Love, whose own are her dear memories,
Called to the sighs in my heart’s wreckage stored:
‘Go!’ whereby outwardly, with one accord,
Not having ever other vent than this,
Plaining athwart my breast they flocked to air,
With speech that, oft recalled, draws unaware
The darkened tears into my mournful eyes;
And those that came in greatest anguish thence
Sang: ‘O most glorious Intelligence!
Thou art one year this day in Paradise.’