POLIZIANO, Angelo
di mezzo maggio in un verde giardino. Eran d’intorno violette e gigli fra l’erba verde, e vaghi fior novelli azzurri gialli candidi e vermigli: ond’io porsi la mano a côr di quelli per adornar e’ mie’ biondi capelli e cinger di grillanda el vago crino.
vidi le rose e non pur d’un colore: io colsi allor per empir tutto el grembo, perch’era sì soave il loro odore che tutto mi senti’ destar el core di dolce voglia e d’un piacer divino.
mai non vi potre’ dir quant’eran belle: quale scoppiava della boccia ancora; qual’eron un po’ passe e qual novelle. Amor mi disse allor: «Va’, co’ di quelle che più vedi fiorite in sullo spino».
quando è più bella, quando è più gradita, allora è buona a mettere in ghirlande, prima che sua bellezza sia fuggita: sicché fanciulle, mentre è più fiorita,
cogliàn la bella rosa del giardino.
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Of middle May within a garden green. Violets bloomed round about and lilies too In verdant grass and buds of every hue, Azure and gold and purest white and red, Whereat to gather them my fingers sped, That I might deck therewith my flaxen hair And weave a garland for my forehead fair
I saw the roses multi-coloured, so I ran to fill my skirts with them and they Breathed such rare fragrancy that straight away I felt awaken in this heart of mine Tender desire and happiness divine.
But to describe their loveliness were vain; Some I beheld just bursting into flower, Some still in bud, some who had spent their dower: Then Love said unto me: “Go, gather them Thou seest most sweetly blooming on the stem!”
When she is tenderest, fairest to behold, Before her loveliness hath passed its prime, To set her in a garland it is time. So, maidens, let us go and pull the rose When she most sweetly in the garden blows.
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Ballad II
I FOUND myself alone, alone one day
Taking my pleasure in a meadow gay.
There’s not a meadow in the world I ween
Where herbs and grasses have so sweet a smell;
I wandered for awhile down pathways green
Till myriad blossoms cast their lovely spell
About me — white, red, every hue pell-mell,
And then I heard a bird uplift his lay.
O very sweetly, tenderly sang he,
Love to the heart of all the world he sped,
Then softly, softly I drew near to see,
I saw that golden were his wings and head,
And every other plume a ruby red,
But back, neck, bosom wore the crystal’s ray
I longed to catch him, for he pleased me well,
But he rose swiftly and away he flew
Back to the nest where he was born; I fell
To following him alone, alone; I knew
That I could take him with the net I threw
Did I but lure him from the woods away
That I could spread a net for him is true,
But since in song his spirit doth rejoice,
Instead of snares and prison-bars I’ll woo,
So far as I am able, with my voice.
That this sweet bird may have what he enjoys
Is the whole reason why I sing this lay.