A Free Translation of One of Buondelmonte’s Sonnets
Love, often under friendship’s form
Secretes himself in dimpled smiles;
Now, makes his nest in bosoms warm,
Now shows himself in artful wiles,
Fair pity’s form he now assumes
Now murmurs like a mournful dove,
But watch his ever-varying plumes
And still you’ll find that love is love.
M.A.S.