Canto VIII
A happy lover who has comeTo look on her that loves him well,Who ‘lights and rings the gateway bell,And learns her gone and far from home;
He saddens, all the magic lightDies off at once from bower and hall,And all the place is dark, and allThe chambers emptied of delight:
So find I every pleasant spotIn which we two were wont to meet,The field, the chamber, and the street,For all is dark where thou art not.
Yet as that other, wandering thereIn those deserted walks, may findA flower beat with rain and wind,Which once she foster’d up with care;
So seems it in my deep regret,O my forsaken heart, with theeAnd this poor flower of poesyWhich little cared for fades not yet.
But since it pleased a vanish’d eye,I go to plant it on his tomb,That if it can it there may bloom,Or, dying, there at least may die.