O anima cortese mantoana
Di cui la fama ancor nel mondo dura,
E durera quanto 'l moto lontana

Those ancients who in poetry presented
the golden age, who sang its happy state,
perhaps, in their Parnassus, dreamt this place.
Here, mankind's root was innocent; and here
were every fruit and never-ending spring;
these streams--the nectar of which poets sing.

Love, that moves the sun and the other stars

Amor, ch'al cor gentile ratto s'apprende
prese costui de la bella persona
che mi fu tolta; e 'l modo ancor m'offende.

Amor, che a nullo amato amar perdona,
Mi prese del costui piacer sì forte,
Che, come vedi, ancor non m'abbandona..."

"Love, which quickly arrests the gentle heart,
Seized him with my beautiful form
That was taken from me, in a manner which still grieves me.

Love, which pardons no beloved from loving,
took me so strongly with delight in him
That, as you see, it still abandons me not...

I felt for the tormented whirlwinds
Damned for their carnal sins
Committed when they let their passions rule their reason.

There is no greater sorrow
Than to recall a happy time
When miserable.