He sport and jest, old age need no man blame;
    For loving things divine implies no shame. 
                The soul that knows her aim,
    Sins not by loving God’s own counterfeit—­
    Due measure kept, and bounds, and order meet.

XLVI.

LOVE’S FLAME DOTH FEED ON AGE.

Se da’ prim’ anni.

If some mild heat of love in youth confessed
    Burns a fresh heart with swift consuming fire,
    What will the force be of a flame more dire
    Shut up within an old man’s cindery breast? 
If the mere lapse of lengthening years hath pressed
    So sorely that life, strength, and vigour tire,
    How shall he fare who must ere long expire,
    When to old age is added love’s unrest? 
Weak as myself, he will be whirled away
    Like dust by winds kind in their cruelty,
    Robbing the loathly worm of its last prey. 
A little flame consumed and fed on me
    In my green age:  now that the wood is dry,
    What hope against this fire more fierce have I?

XLVII.

BEAUTY’S INTOLERABLE SPLENDOUR.

Se ’l foco alla bellezza.

If but the fire that lightens in thine eyes
    Were equal with their beauty, all the snow
    And frost of all the world would melt and glow
    Like brands that blaze beneath fierce tropic skies. 
But heaven in mercy to our miseries
    Dulls and divides the fiery beams that flow
    From thy great loveliness, that we may go
    Through this stern mortal life in tranquil wise. 
Thus beauty burns not with consuming rage;
    For so much only of the heavenly light
    Inflames our love as finds a fervent heart. 
This is my case, lady, in sad old age: 
    If seeing thee, I do not die outright,
    ’Tis that I feel thy beauty but in part.

XLVIII.

LOVE’S EVENING.

Se ’l troppo indugio.

What though long waiting wins more happiness
    Than petulant desire is wont to gain,
    My luck in latest age hath brought me pain,
    Thinking how brief must be an old man’s bliss. 
Heaven, if it heed our lives, can hardly bless
    This fire of love when frosts are wont to reign: 
    For so I love thee, lady, and my strain
    Of tears through age exceeds in tenderness. 
Yet peradventure though my day is done,—­
    Though nearly past the setting mid thick cloud
    And frozen exhalations sinks my sun,—­
If love to only mid-day be allowed,
    And I an old man in my evening burn,
    You, lady, still my night to noon may turn.

XLIX.

LOVE’S EXCUSE.

Dal dolcie pianto.