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My voice was exhausted, and I could not
write poetry worthy my beloved: to hide the pain of inadequacy-- exposure--more and more people see how I fall short--strains my heart past bearing. These songs ever more desperate, ever more numerous irritate others, nor can they comfort me. It'd be better to fall silent. What use are all these rhymes about his chivalry or my desperation? Helicon needs not my utterances. It's time to hide how I burn from within, to dry the tears people can see, and bear them in my heart, to die alone, inside. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: V XCIII:93. See also B A1:74:40 and R VII:25. Parallel text: Petrarch, Sonnet 345, "Spinse amor et dolor ove ir non debbe" (Durling 542-3). Key |
