|
|
To Laura In Death. Sonnet XLVI.
By Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch)
Mente mia che presaga de' tuoi danni.
HE RECALLS WITH GRIEF THEIR LAST MEETING.
My mind! prophetic of my coming fate,
Pensive and gloomy while yet joy was lent,
On the loved lineaments still fix'd, intent
To seek dark bodings, ere thy sorrow's date!
From her sweet acts, her words, her looks, her gait,
From her unwonted pity with sadness blent,
Thou might'st have said, hadst thou been prescient,
"I taste my last of bliss in this low state!"
My wretched soul! the poison, oh, how sweet!
That through my eyes instill'd the burning smart,
Gazing on hers, no more on earth to meet!
To them--my bosom's wealth! condemn'd to part
On a far journey--as to friends discreet,
All my fond thoughts I left, and lingering heart.
DACRE.
Extra Info:
|
|
Printable Page
Add Your Thoughts on this poem.
This page viewed 315 times.
|
|
