Chapter XXIV

_Mestier non era all’alma tuo beltate
Legarme vinto con alcuna corda;
Che, se ben mi ricorda,
Sol d’uno sguardo fui prigione e preda:
C’alle gran doglie usate
Forz’è c’un debil cor subito ceda.
Ma chi fie ma’ che creda,
Preso da’ tuo’ begli occhi in brevi giorni
Un legnio secco e arso verde torni?_

_Thy sweetness had no need of cord or chain
Its prisoner to bind;
Too well I bear in mind,
How I was conquered by a glance alone;
The heart subdued by many an ancient pain
Hath lost the fortitude it erst did own.
Yet who hath ever known,
That wakened by a look, in time so brief,
A withered tree should kindle and bear leaf?_