‘S'amor non è, che dunque è quel ch'io sento?

What do I feel if this is not love?
But if it is love, God, what thing is this?
If good, why this effect: bitter, mortal?
If bad, then why is every suffering sweet?
If I desire to burn, why the tears and grief?
If my state is evil, what's the use of grieving?
O living death, O delightful evil,
how can you be in me so, if I do not consent?
And if I consent, I am greatly wrong in sorrowing.
Among conflicting winds in a frail boat
I find myself on the deep sea without a helm,
so light in knowledge, so laden with error,
that I do not know what I wish myself,
and tremble in midsummer, burn in winter.

Translated by: A. S. Kline