It so happened afterwards that whenever this lady saw me, she appeared with a pitiful face and pallid colour as if from love: so reminding me often of my most noble lady, who always showed herself with a similar colour. And indeed, often, not being able to weep or express my sadness, I went to see this compassionate lady, sight of whom seemed to draw the tears from my eyes. And so I felt the will to write words once more, speaking to her, and I wrote this sonetto, which begins: ‘Color d’amore: The colour of love’: and is clear without needing to be divided, because of the preceding account.
The colour of love and the semblance of pity
no woman’s face has more miraculously
shown, from often seeing
gentle eyes or grievous weeping,
than yours, when before you
you can see my sorrowing mouth:
such thoughts come to my mind through you,
I cannot hold my heart firm in its distress.
I cannot keep my wasted eyes
from gazing at you continually,
because of their desire for weeping:
and their will increases seeing you,
so that they are all consumed by that wish:
but in your presence they cannot shed tears.
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