Ballate
BALLATA III
Tho’ all thy piteous mercy fall away
Not for thy failing shall my faith so fall,
That Faith speaks on of services unpaid
To the unpitièd heart.
What that heart feeleth? Ye believe me not.
Who sees such things? Surely no one at all,
For Love me gives a spirit on his part
Who dieth if portrayed.
Thence when that pleasure so assaileth me,
And the sighing faileth me,
Within my heart a rain of love descendeth
So fragrantly, so purely
That I cry out, “Lady, thou hold'st me surely!”
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