From the Italian by Lord Byron From the “Divina Commedia: Inferno” AND then I turned unto their side my eyes, And said,—“Francesca, thy sad destinies Have made me sorrow till the tears arise. But tell me, in the season of sweet sighs, By what and how thy love to passion rose, So as his dim desires to recognize.” Then she to me: “The greatest of all woes Is, to remind us of our happy days In misery; and that thy teacher knows. But if to learn our passion’s first root preys Upon thy spirit with such sympathy, I will do even as he who weeps and says. We read one day for pastime, seated nigh, Of Lancilot, how Love enchained him too. We were alone, quite unsuspiciously. But oft our eyes met, and our cheeks in hue All o’er discolored by that reading were; But one point only wholly us o’erthrew: When we read the long sighed-for smile of her, To be thus kissed by such devoted lover, He who from me can be divided ne’er Kissed my mouth, trembling in the act all over. Accursèd was the book and he who wrote! That day no further leaf we did uncover.”
Francesca Da Rimini
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