Chi e questa che ven, ch'ogn'om la mira
(translation from Medieval Song, ed. James J. Wilhelm)
Who is it comes whom every man admires,
Who sets the air with clarity atremble?
Bringing Love too, so no man dare dissemble,
By speech, but each can only now suspire?
O how to catch her from the eye's swift gyre?
Love tells me: "No, you'd only bumble,
Because of woman she's so far most humble
Than any other you must then call 'ire.'"
No one could count her many charms, though modest,
For toward her bends every noble power;
Thus beauty sets her forth to be her goddess.
Still my mind is not so high and grand,
Nor have I felt the grace at any hour
To encompass her and say, "I understand."
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M. Bishop | Last updated 12 January 2002