ok, here it is again
On ash-covered ground, calcined, without greenery,
As I complained to nature one day,
And then to my thought, I would start,
Slowly sharpening the dagger over my heart:
I live in midday sun with a cloud over my head
As large as a storm, dismal, descended,
Carrying vicious demons in droves,
Like cruel and curious dwarves.
They coldly considered me as in a mirror,
And, like passers by about a madman they admire,
I heard between themselves many a laugh and whisper,
And saw many a sign and wink of the eyes shared:
—"Let us contemplate at our leisure this caricature,
This shade of Hamlet imitating his posture,
The indecisive eyes and the wind-blown hair.
Is it not a great pity to see this actor,
This beggar, this bon vivant, comedian of the heart,
Because he can so skillfully play his part,
Try to interest in the song of his sorrows
The eagles and crickets, the rivers and flowers,
And even to us, the authors of these old charades,
Rehearsing in howls his public tirades?"
I could have (my pride as high as the mountains
Ruling the cloud and the cry of the demons)
Simply turned my sovereign head away,
Had I not seen among their obscene array,
Crimes that should have made the sun itself reel!
The queen of my heart with a look unequaled,
Who laughed with them at my dark distress
And sometimes poured on them a dirty caress
around the
is where it ends, although this is the complete poem.i wrote more notes in the "la beatrice" thread, sorry.