Sonnet CLX.

Pasco la mente d' un sì nobil cibo.

TO SEE AND HEAR HER IS HIS GREATEST BLISS.


    I feed my fancy on such noble food,
That Jove I envy not his godlike meal;
I see her--joy invades me like a flood,
And lethe of all other bliss I feel;
I hear her--instantly that music rare
Bids from my captive heart the fond sigh flow;
Borne by the hand of Love I know not where,
A double pleasure in one draught I know.
Even in heaven that dear voice pleaseth well,
So winning are its words, its sound so sweet,
None can conceive, save who had heard, their spell;
Thus, in the same small space, visibly, meet
All charms of eye and ear wherewith our race
Art, Genius, Nature, Heaven have join'd to grace.

MACGREGOR.


    Such noble aliment sustains my soul,
That Jove I envy not his godlike food;
I gaze on her--and feel each other good
Engulph'd in that blest draught at Lethe's bowl:
Her every word I in my heart enrol,
That on its grief it still may constant brood;
Prostrate by Love--my doom not understood
From that one form, I feel a twin control.
My spirit drinks the music of her voice,
Whose speaking harmony (to heaven so dear)
They only feel who in its tone partake:
Again within her face my eyes rejoice,
For in its gentle lineaments appear
What Genius, Nature, Art, and Heaven can wake.

WOLLASTON.

Francesco Petrarca

Francesco Petrarca, commonly known as Petrarch, was an Italian scholar, poet, and early humanist during the Renaissance. He is often called the "Father of Humanism" and is best known for his Italian poetry, notably the Canzoniere, a collection of poems addressed to his idealized beloved Laura. Petrarch's works have influenced countless writers and helped shape the modern Italian language.

Francesco Petrarca

To Laura In Death. Sonnet LIX.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

Sonnet XXVI.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

Sonnet CXCI.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

Sonnet VII.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Sonnet CLXV.

L' aura soave ch' al sol spiega e vibra.

HIS HEART LIES TANGLED IN HER HAIR.


    The pleasant gale, that to the sun unplaits
And spreads the gold Love's fingers weave, and braid
O'er her fine eyes, and all around her head,
Fetters my heart, the wishful sigh creates:
No nerve but thrills, no artery but beats,
Approaching my fair arbiter with dread,
Who in her doubtful scale hath ofttimes weigh'd
Whether or death or life on me awaits;
Beholding, too, those eyes their fires display,
And on those shoulders shine such wreaths of hair,
Whose witching tangles my poor heart ensnare.
But how this magic's wrought I cannot say;
For twofold radiance doth my reason blind,
And sweetness to excess palls and o'erpowers my mind.

NOTT.

...

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet CCIX.

Parrà forse ad alcun, che 'n lodar quella.

HE INVITES THOSE TO WHOM HIS PRAISES SEEM EXCESSIVE TO BEHOLD THE OBJECT OF THEM.


    Haply my style to some may seem too free
In praise of her who holds my being's chain,
Queen of her sex describing her to reign,
Wise, winning, good, fair, noble, chaste to be:
To me it seems not so; I fear that she
My lays as low and trifling may disdain,
Worthy a higher and a better strain;
--Who thinks not with me let him come and see.
Then will he say, She whom his wishes seek
Is one indeed whose grace and worth might tire
The muses of all lands and either lyre.
But mortal tongue for state divine is weak,
And may not soar; by flattery and force,
As Fate not choice ordains, Love rules its course.

MACG...

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet CLXXIX.

In nobil sangue vita umile e queta.

SHE UNITES IN HERSELF THE HIGHEST EXCELLENCES OF VIRTUE AND BEAUTY.


    High birth in humble life, reserved yet kind,
On youth's gay flower ripe fruits of age and rare,
A virtuous heart, therewith a lofty mind,
A happy spirit in a pensive air;
Her planet, nay, heaven's king, has fitly shrined
All gifts and graces in this lady fair,
True honour, purest praises, worth refined,
Above what rapt dreams of best poets are.
Virtue and Love so rich in her unite,
With natural beauty dignified address,
Gestures that still a silent grace express,
And in her eyes I know not what strange light,
That makes the noonday dark, the dusk night clear,
Bitter the sweet, and e'en sad absence dear.

MACGREGOR.

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet CXL.

Mirando 'l sol de' begli occhi sereno.

THE SWEETS AND BITTERS OF LOVE.


    Marking of those bright eyes the sun serene
Where reigneth Love, who mine obscures and grieves,
My hopeless heart the weary spirit leaves
Once more to gain its paradise terrene;
Then, finding full of bitter-sweet the scene,
And in the world how vast the web it weaves.
A secret sigh for baffled love it heaves,
Whose spurs so sharp, whose curb so hard have been.
By these two contrary and mix'd extremes,
With frozen or with fiery wishes fraught,
To stand 'tween misery and bliss she seems:
Seldom in glad and oft in gloomy thought,
But mostly contrite for its bold emprize,
For of like seed like fruit must ever rise!

MACGREGOR.

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet CCV.

Fresco ambroso fiorito e verde colle.

HE CONGRATULATES HIS HEART ON ITS REMAINING WITH HER.


    O hill with green o'erspread, with groves o'erhung!
Where musing now, now trilling her sweet lay,
Most like what bards of heavenly spirits say,
Sits she by fame through every region sung:
My heart, which wisely unto her has clung--
More wise, if there, in absence blest, it stay!
Notes now the turf o'er which her soft steps stray,
Now where her angel-eyes' mild beam is flung;
Then throbs and murmurs, as they onward rove,
"Ah! were he here, that man of wretched lot,
Doom'd but to taste the bitterness of love!"
She, conscious, smiles: our feelings tally not:
Heartless am I, mere stone; heaven is thy grove--
O dear delightful shade, O consecrated spo...

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet CLXXXIV.

Onde tolse Amor l' oro e di qual vena.

THE CHARMS OF HER COUNTENANCE AND VOICE.


    Whence could Love take the gold, and from what vein,
To form those bright twin locks? What thorn could grow
Those roses? And what mead that white bestow
Of the fresh dews, which pulse and breath obtain?
Whence came those pearls that modestly restrain
Accents which courteous, sweet, and rare can flow?
And whence those charms that so divinely show,
Spread o'er a face serene as heaven's blue plain?
Taught by what angel, or what tuneful sphere,
Was that celestial song, which doth dispense
Such potent magic to the ravish'd ear?
What sun illumed those bright commanding eyes,
Which now look peaceful, now in hostile guise;
Now torture me with hope, and now with fear...

Francesco Petrarca