XXXVII.
It came to pass afterwards that, wherever this lady saw me, she became of a compassionate aspect and of a pallid color, even as that of love; wherefore I was often reminded of my most noble lady, who had ever showed herself to me of a like color. And ofttimes, in truth, not being able to weep, nor to give vent to my sadness, I sought to see this compassionate lady, who seemed by her look to draw the tears out from my eyes. And therefore the will came to me furthermore to say certain words, speaking to her; and I devised this sonnet which begins, “Color of Love,” and which is plain without division, through the preceding account.
Color of Love and semblance of compassion
Never so wondrously possession took
Of lady’s face, through turning oft her look
On gentle eyes and grievous lamentation,
As now, forsooth, of yours they do, whene’er
You see my countenance with grief o’erwrought;
So that through you comes something to my thought
Which, lest it break my heart, I greatly fear.
I have no power to keep my wasted eyes
From looking oft on you, with the desire
That gaineth them to let their tears o’erflow.
And you increase their wish in such a wise
That with the longing they are all on fire,
But how to weep before you do not know.