Poem 42

Vergine e madre, il tuo figlio sul petto Stringesti morto, ma il fido pensero

Scorgea la gloria e’l bel trionfo altero Ch’ei riportava d’ogni spirto eletto

L’aspre su piaghe e il dolce umile aspetto T’accendeva il tormento acerbo e fero,

Poi la vittoria grande e l’onor vero Portava a l’alma nuovo alto diletto. E so che in quella umanità sentisti

Che Dio non la lasciava, anzi avea cura Di ritornarla gloriosa e viva;

Ma perché vera madre il partoristi, Credo che insino a la tua sepoltura

Di madre avesti il cor d’ogni ben priva.

Virgin and mother, you clasped your dead son upon your breast, but in your faithful mind

you saw the glory and the holy victory that he brought to every elected soul.

His bitter wounds and sweet humble countenance increased your harsh and potent torment,

but the great triumph of true honor brought to your soul a new and pure delight.

I know you saw that God had not left his soul in that mortal body, but rather would be certain to resurrect it into glorious life; yet because you bore him as a human mother,

I believe that from that moment until death your maternal heart was robbed of any joy.