Jacopo Sannazzaro (1458–1530)

Translated by James Glassford, of Dougalston

ALAS! when I behold this empty show

Of life, and think how soon it shall have fled;

When I consider how the honoured head

Is daily struck by death’s mysterious blow,—

My heart is wasted like the melting snow,

And hope, that comforter, is nearly dead;

Seeing these wings have been so long outspread,

And yet so sluggish is my flight and low.

But if I therefore should complain and weep,—

If chide with love, or fortune, or the fair,—

No cause I have; myself must bear it all,

Who, like a man ’mid trifles lulled to sleep,

With death beside me, feed on empty air,

Nor think how soon this mouldering garb must fall.