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I was pushed to write this comparison after reading the poem on Byron by the souper poet Gary Bateman.
Wandering on internet I found the Byron's version of Francesca's words in CANTO V of Dante's Hell and I was curious to compare his translation with mine. I was astonished by the fact that while apparently both Byron and me were trying to reproduce the original sound of verses and to obey the rhyme rules, the two compositions have no one rhyme coincident in any terzine. So I report here the two versions, mine in italics and Byron's in bold (as obvious, being more important). Francesca tells hers story with the following words:


The land where I was born and had my breed
Is close to sea there where Po river falls
To stay behind with effluents to lead.

The Land where I was born sits by the Seas
Upon that shore to which the Po descends,
With all his followers, in search of peace.

Love, which the gentle heart rapidly calls
Strong captured him about the body nice
Got out of me, and way offense recalls.

Love, which the gentle heart soon apprehends,
Seized him for the fair person which was ta’en
From me, and me even yet the mode offends.

Love, which does not let lovers to entice,
Took me for him so strongly pleasure lust
That, as you see, still here cannot decease.

Love, who to none beloved to love again
Remits, seized me with wish to please, so strong,
That, as thou see’st, yet, yet it doth remain.

Love then led both us to a death cussed.
Caina expects whom our lives turned out”.
These words by them were proffered to us just.

Love to one death conducted us along,
But Caina waits for him our life who ended:”
These were the accents uttered by her tongue.

When I heard those souls hurted with no doubt,
I bowed my face and  moved it so much low,
Until the poet told me: “Which is your thought?” 

Since I first listened to these Souls offended,
I bowed my visage, and so kept it till—
“What think’st thou?” said the bard; when I unbended,

Answering, I started: “Sorry I go,
How many sweet thoughts, and how much desire
To such a  painful handoff  could them throw!”

And recommenced: “Alas! unto such ill
How many sweet thoughts, what strong ecstacies,
Led these their evil fortune to fulfill!”

Then I turned to them and was to enquire,
So I started: ”Francesca, torments yours
My piteous sorrow and cry require.

And then I turned unto their side my eyes,
And said, “Francesca, thy sad destinies
Have made me sorrow till the tears arise.

But say: at time of sweet breaths on your corps,
Which was the cause and which the way love  won
So that unfair desires reached your cores?”.

But tell me, in the Season of sweet sighs,
By what and how thy Love to Passion rose,
So as his dim desires to recognize?”

And she to me: “Any worse pain is none
Than recalling now the joyousness time
Being in troubles; your guide knows the dawn.

Then she to me: “The greatest of all woes
Is to remind us of our happy days
In misery, and that thy teacher knows.

But if to understand the deep root prime
Of our love your heart to a such extent,
I will tell my story while crying I’m.

But if to learn our Passion’s first root preys
Upon thy spirit with such Sympathy,
I will do even as he who weeps and says.

We were reading one day with joy intent
Of Lancelot by love under the grip;
We were alone and no suspect we meant.

We read one day for pastime, seated nigh,
Of Lancilot, how Love enchained him too.
We were alone, quite unsuspiciously.

Several times our eyes to joining slip
That reading made, blanching indeed our face;
But only a point then our strength could strip.

But oft our eyes met, and our Cheeks in hue
All o’er discoloured by that reading were;
But one point only wholly us o’erthrew;

When we had read that the lip desired grace
Was kissed indeed by such a lover slap,
This, whom none from me ever will displace,

When we read the long-sighed-for smile of her,
To be thus kissed by such devoted lover,
He, who from me can be divided ne’er,

Kissed my mouth while he was all trembling flap,
Guilty was that book and who wrote it: too
We then could read no more in that day gap”

Kissed my mouth, trembling in the act all over:
Accurséd was the book and he who wrote!
That day no further leaf we did uncover.”

While one of the souls went the story through,
The other cried; so much a mercy led
That I lost senses, like to death me drew 

While thus one Spirit told us of their lot,
The other wept, so that with Pity’s thralls
I swooned, as if by Death I had been smote,

And I fell down as falls a body dead.

And fell down even as a dead body falls.
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