Song. Translated From the Italian — Summary

Oh! what is the gain of restless care, And what is ambitious treasure? And what are the joys that the modish share, In their sickly haunts of pleasure?

My husband's repast with delight I spread, What though 'tis but rustic fare, May each guardian angel protect his shed, May contentment and quiet be there.

And may I support my husband's years, May I soothe his dying pain, And then may I dry my fast falling tears, And meet him in Heaven again.

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The speaker begins by brushing aside the empty rewards of anxiety, wealth, and fashionable pleasures. Those opening questions don't ask for an answer; they quietly dismiss a whole world of shallow striving. In their place, she offers an intimate glimpse of her own life—spreading a simple meal for her husband, hoping for his safety and peace. The mood shifts from cool rejection to a warm, protective tenderness.

Her thoughts then move forward in time. She wants to support him through old age, to comfort him as he dies, and she imagines a reunion beyond death. There is no desperation here, just a steady, grounded affection. The poem feels like a whispered promise, calm and certain, finding all the meaning it needs in quiet care rather than in restless ambition.

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