A Lady Asks Me Poem by Guido Cavalcanti

A lady asks me - I speak for that reason
Of an effect - that so often - is daring
And so haughty - he's called Amore:
He who denies him - now realise the truth!
I speak - to those present - with knowledge,5
Owning no expectation - that the base-hearted
Can gain understanding through explanation:
Nor that - without practical demonstration
I have the talent - to prove at will
Where he lives, or who gave him creation,10
Or what his power is, or what his virtue,
His essence too - and his every movement,
Nor the delight - so that we say: ‘to love',
Nor whether a man can show him to gazing.
In the place - that memory inhabits15
He has his station - and takes on form
Like a veil of light - born of that shadow
Which is of Mars - that arrives and remains;
He is created - has sensation - name,
From the soul, manner - from the heart, will.20
And comes from visible form that takes on,
And embraces - in possible intellect,
As in the subject - location and dwelling.
And yet he has no weight in that state
Since he is not as a quality descending:25
Shines out - of himself perpetual impression;
Takes no delight - except in awareness;
Nor can scatter his likenesses around.
He is not virtue - but out of that comes
Which is perfection - (so self-established),30
And through feeling - not rationally, I say;
Beyond balance - yet proclaiming judgement,
That will itself - 'stead of reason - is valid:
Poor in discernment - so vice is his friend.
Oft from his power then death will follow,35
He's strong - and, virtue opposing him,
Thus runs counter to what brings succour:
Not that he is by nature in conflict;
But twisted awry from true perfection
By fate - no man possessor of life can say40
That once established - he has no lordship.
Likewise he has power though men forget.
He comes into being - when will is such
That a further measure - of nature's - at play;
Then he will never adorn himself - with rest.45
Moving - changing colour, laughing through tears,
Contorting - the features - with signatures of fear;
Scarce pausing; - yet you will note of him
He's most often found with people of worth.
His strange quality gives rise to sighing,50
And makes a man gaze - into formless places
Arousing the passion that stirs a flame,
(No man can imagine him who's not known him)
Unmoving - yet he draws all towards him,
Not turning about - to discover joy:55
Nor minded to know whether great or small.
From his like he elicits - the complex glance
That makes - the pleasure - appear more certain:
Nor can stay hidden - when he is met with.
Not savage indeed - yet beauty his arrow,60
So that desire - for fear is - made skilful:
Following all merit - in the piercing spirit.
Nor can be comprehended from the face:
Seen - as blankness fallen among objects;
Listening deep - yet seeing not form itself:65
But led by what emanates from it.
Far from colour, of separate being,
Seated - in midst of darkness, skirting the light,
Yet far from all deceit - I say, worthy of trust,
So that compassion is born from him alone.70
Canzone, confidently, now you may go
Wherever you please, I've adorned you so
Your reasoning - will be praised by everyone
Who makes the effort to comprehend you: though
You will reveal no art to other than them.