If, a lowly, abject woman, I
can carry within so sublime a flame,
why shouldn’t I draw out at least
a little of its style and vein to show the world?
If love has lit a new and unheard-of spark
to raise me up to a place I’d never gained,
why, with equally uncommon skill,
can’t it make my pen and pain the same?
And if the force of sheer nature’s not
enough, why then some miracle that often
conquers, breaks, and ruptures every limit.
How this could be, I can’t exactly say;
I know only that my great destiny’s
impressed upon my heart a sweet new style.
From The complete poems: the 1554 edition of the “rime,” a bilingual edition (65)
University of Chicago Press, 2010
Originally published in Italian, 1554
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