Sans moindre pleur, sans éprouver d’envie.
Car si amant a chance plus clémente,
Mille plaisirs ne valent mes tourments.
Or ces beaux yeux, qui ne me font jamais
Regretter la moindre de mes douleurs,
Une brume les couvre, épaisse, brune,
Qui va jusqu’à éteindre mon soleil.
Ô bestiale Nature apitoyée,
Comment peux-tu contradictoirement
Faire et défaire des choses si belles ?
D’une source vitale, tout provient :
Mais comment permets-tu, Père suprême,
Que ton cher don soit ainsi bafoué ?
*
I’ mi vivea di mia sorte contento,
senza lagrime et senza invidia alcuna,
che, s’altro amante à piú destra fortuna,
mille piacer’ non vaglion un tormento.
Or quei belli occhi ond’io mai non mi pento
de le mie pene, et men non ne voglio una,
tal nebbia copre, sí gravosa et bruna,
che ’l sol de la mia vita à quasi spento.
O Natura, pietosa et fera madre,
onde tal possa et sí contrarie voglie
di far cose et disfar tanto leggiadre?
D’un vivo fonte ogni poder s’accoglie:
ma Tu come ’l consenti, o sommo Padre,
che del Tuo caro dono altri ne spoglie?
*
I had lived contented with my fate,
without tears, not envying anyone,
since if any lover had better fortune,
his thousand joys were not worth my torment.
Now, the lovely eyes of which I never will
regret the pain, and wish not one pain less,
are misted over, so heavily, so darkly,
that my life’s sun is almost quenched.
O Nature, merciful and savage mother,
how can you will such contrary things
to create and then un-create so lightly?
All power flows from one living fountain:
and how can You consent, O heavenly Father,
to another spoiling your beloved gift?
***
Pétrarque (1304-1374) – Canzoniere