Poems for the Stone Lady 

Al poco giorno e al gran cerchio d’ombra

 

Al poco giorno e al gran cerchio d’ombra

son giunto, lasso, ed al bianchir de’ colli,

quando si perde lo color ne l’erba:

e ‘l mio disio però non cangia il verde,

sí è barbato ne la dura petra                          5

che parla e sente come fosse donna.

 

Similemente questa nova donna

si sta gelata come neve a l’ombra;

ché non la move, se non come petra,

il dolce tempo che riscalda i colli,               10

e che li fa tornar di bianco in verde

perché li copre di fioretti e d’erba.

 

Quand’ella ha in testa una ghirlanda d’erba,

trae de la mente nostra ogn’altra donna;

perché si mischia il crespo giallo e ‘l verde     5

sí bel, ch’Amor il viene a stare a l’ombra,

che m’ha serrato intra piccioli colli

più forte assai che la calcina petra.

 

La sua bellezza ha più vertù che petra,

e ‘l colpo suo non può sanar per erba;         20

ch’io son fuggito per piani e per colli,

per potere scampar da cotal donna;

e dal suo lume non mi può far ombra

poggio né muro mai né fronda verde.

 

Io l’ho veduta già vestita a verde,                 25

sí fatta ch’ella avrebbe messo in petra

l’amor ch’io porto pur a la sua ombra:

ond’io l’ho chesta in un bel prato d’erba,

innamorata com’anco fu donna,

e chiuso intorno d’altissimi colli.                  30

 

Ma ben ritorneranno i fiumi a’ colli,

prima che questo legno molle e verde

s’infiammi, come suol far bella donna,

di me; che mi torrei dormire in petra

tutto il mio tempo e gir pascendo l’erba,       35

sol per veder do’ suol parmi fanno ombra.

 

Quandunque i colli fanno più nera ombra, 

sotto un bel verde la giovane donna 

la fa sparer, com’uom petra sott’erba.

To the Short Day and Its Great Arc of Shadow

 

To the short day and its great arc of shadow,

I’ve come, alas, and to the paling hills,

now that all colors vanish from the grass;

yet this my longing does not change its green,
rooted as it is still in the hard stone                         5

that speaks and hears as though it were a woman.

 

In a like fashion this new, wondrous woman

stays frozen just as snow within the shadow;

unmoved, not any more than is a stone,

by the sweet season that warms up the hills           10

and makes them turn once more from white to green,

covering them with flowerets and grass.

 

When round her brow she wears a wreath of grass,

we cannot think of any other woman,

for she alone blends waving gold and green              15

so gracefully that Love rests in their shadow—

he who has locked me fast inside low hills

much more than lime has ever locked a stone.

 

Her beauty’s worth far more than precious stone,

and for her wounds there is no healing grass.           20

Long have I run through plainland and on hills

in order to escape from such a woman:

such is her light, it never offers shadow

either of knoll or wall or branches’ green.

 

I have already seen her clad in green,                      25

so perfect, she could have inspired a stone

with the same love I bear her very shadow;

and so I begged her on fair fields of grass:

she seemed as much in love as any woman

there on that meadow closed by lofty hills.               30

 

But well may rivers flow back to their hills

before this wood, that is still soft and green,

is able to catch fire, as does fair woman,

for me, who gladly would on some hard stone

sleep all my life or simply feed on grass,                  35

only to watch her garments cast a shadow.

 

Although the hills now cast a blacker shadow,

under the green the youthful woman makes it,

vanish, as one a stone beneath the grass.

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