The dragon's lair

Cecco Angiolieri

I shall not see a single day that’s fine
Till Rome lies buried under August snows;
But in the meantime I’m more rich in woes
Than is October with the must of wine.
For one cause only all this grief is mine:
Because I seek a kind reply, in vain,
From her who holds my heart in greater pain
Than damned souls ever got from wrath divine.
She has no cause to cause the pains I’ve felt,
And peace must follow war since, come what may,
I long to serve her, though she’s so perverse.
Beneath her contumacious moods I melt
As salt in boiling water wastes away:
She’s even sorry that I fare no worse.

Cecco Angiolieri

I shall not see a single day that’s fine
Till Rome lies buried under August snows;
But in the meantime I’m more rich in woes
Than is October with the must of wine.
For one cause only all this grief is mine:
Because I seek a kind reply, in vain,
From her who holds my heart in greater pain
Than damned souls ever got from wrath divine.
She has no cause to cause the pains I’ve felt,
And peace must follow war since, come what may,
I long to serve her, though she’s so perverse.
Beneath her contumacious moods I melt
As salt in boiling water wastes away:
She’s even sorry that I fare no worse.