Laurea, propriis uirtutibus illustris et meis longum celebrata carminibus, primum oculis meis apparuit sub primum adolescentie mee tempus, anno Domini m° iijc xxviij die vj° mensis Aprilis in ecclesia sancte Clare Auin. hora matutina; et in eadem ciuitate eodem mense Aprili eodem die sexto eadem hora prima, anno autem m° iijc xlviij° ab hac luce lux illa subtracta est, cum ego forte tunc Verone essem, heu! fati mei nescius. Rumor autem infelix per literas Ludouici mei me Parme repperit, anno eodem mense Maio die xix° mane. Corpus illud castissimum atque pulcerrimum in loco Fratrum Minorum repositum est, ipso die mortis ad uesperam. Animam quidem eius, ut de Africano ait Seneca, in celum, unde erat, rediisse persuadeo michi. Hec autem ad acerbam rei memoriam amara quadam dulcedine scribere uisum est, hoc potissimum loco qui sepe sub oculis meis redit, ut scilicet nichil esse debere quod amplius mihi placeat in hac uita et, effracto maiori laqueo, tempus esse de Babilone fugiendi crebra horum inspectione ac fugacissime etatis estimatione conmonear, quod, preuia Dei gratia, facile erit preteriti temporis curas superuacuas spes inanes et inexpectatos exitus acriter ac uiriliter cogitanti.

Laura, famous for her own virtues and long celebrated in my poems, first appeared to my eyes in the early days of my youth, on April 6 in the year of our Lord 1327, in the church of Saint Clare at Avignon, in the morning. And in the same city, in the same month of April, on the same sixth day, at the same first hour, but in the year 1348, that light was taken from this light of day. I happened to be at Verona then, alas, unaware of what had befallen me. The sad news reached me at Parma in a letter from my friend Ludovicus, on the morning of May 19 of the same year. That most chaste and beautiful body was laid to rest at the church of the Franciscans on the very evening of the day she died. Her soul, I am convinced, has returned to heaven, where it came from, as Seneca says of Africanus. I have decided to write this down, with a kind of bitter sweetness, in memory of that painful event. I write it here above all, in a place that often comes back before my eyes. Seeing these words often, and reckoning how fast life flies, will remind me that nothing in this life should please me any longer. Now that the greatest snare is broken, it is time to flee from Babylon. With God’s grace leading the way, that will be easy, if I think hard and bravely about the useless cares, empty hopes, and unexpected endings of the past.