Non è sí duro cor che, lagrimando, pregando, amando, talor non si smova, né sí freddo voler, che non si scalde. - Petrarch

She closed her eyes; and in the sweet slumber lying
her spirit tiptoed from its lodging place.
It's folly to shrink in fear, if this is dying;
for death looked lovely in her face.

Since speaking of her eyes calls up the passion in me, and nothing else I do affects me quite so deeply, I must visit often where my sorrow wells up and overflows its boundaries, and thus my eyes are punished with my heart, because they led me on the road to love.

Sweet is the death that taketh end by love.