Sonnet CX.

Come talora al caldo tempo suole.

HE LIKENS HIMSELF TO THE INSECT WHICH, FLYING INTO ONE'S EYES, MEETS ITS DEATH.


    As when at times in summer's scorching heats.
Lured by the light, the simple insect flies,
As a charm'd thing, into the passer's eyes,
Whence death the one and pain the other meets,
Thus ever I, my fatal sun to greet,
Rush to those eyes where so much sweetness lies
That reason's guiding hand fierce Love defies,
And by strong will is better judgment beat.
I clearly see they value me but ill,
And, for against their torture fails my strength.
That I am doom'd my life to lose at length:
But Love so dazzles and deludes me still,
My heart their pain and not my loss laments,
And blind, to its own death my soul consents.

MACGREGOR.

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

Sonnet CCVIII.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

Sestina VII.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

Sonnet CXXI.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

Sonnet CLX.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

English

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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 CXIX.

Questa umil fera, un cor di tigre o d' orsa.

HE PRAYS HER EITHER TO WELCOME OR DISMISS HIM AT ONCE.


    Fiercer than tiger, savager than bear,
In human guise an angel form appears,
Who between fear and hope, from smiles to tears
So tortures me that doubt becomes despair.
Ere long if she nor welcomes me, nor frees,
But, as her wont, between the two retains,
By the sweet poison circling through my veins,
My life, O Love! will soon be on its lees.
No longer can my virtue, worn and frail
With such severe vicissitudes, contend,
At once which burn and freeze, make red and pale:
By flight it hopes at length its grief to end,
As one who, hourly failing, feels death nigh:
Powerless he is indeed who cannot even die!

MACGREGOR.

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet LIX.

Se al principio risponde il fine e 'l mezzo.

IF HIS PASSION STILL INCREASE, HE MUST SOON DIE.


    If, of this fourteenth year wherein I sigh,
The end and middle with its opening vie,
Nor air nor shade can give me now release,
I feel mine ardent passion so increase:
For Love, with whom my thought no medium knows,
Beneath whose yoke I never find repose,
So rules me through these eyes, on mine own ill
Too often turn'd, but half remains to kill.
Thus, day by day, I feel me sink apace,
And yet so secretly none else may trace,
Save she whose glances my fond bosom tear.
Scarcely till now this load of life I bear
Nor know how long with me will be her stay,
For death draws near, and hastens life away.

MACGREGOR.

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet CXCIV.

I' piansi, or canto; che 'l celeste lume.

AT HER RETURN, HIS SORROWS VANISH.


    I wept, but now I sing; its heavenly light
That living sun conceals not from my view,
But virtuous love therein revealeth true
His holy purposes and precious might;
Whence, as his wont, such flood of sorrow springs
To shorten of my life the friendless course,
Nor bridge, nor ford, nor oar, nor sails have force
To forward mine escape, nor even wings.
But so profound and of so full a vein
My suff'ring is, so far its shore appears,
Scarcely to reach it can e'en thought contrive:
Nor palm, nor laurel pity prompts to gain,
But tranquil olive, and the dark sky clears,
And checks my grief and wills me to survive.

MACGREGOR.

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet CXV.

Quando 'l voler, che con duo sproni ardenti.

HER LOOKS BOTH COMFORT AND CHECK HIM.


    When, with two ardent spurs and a hard rein,
Passion, my daily life who rules and leads,
From time to time the usual law exceeds
That calm, at least in part, my spirits may gain,
It findeth her who, on my forehead plain,
The dread and daring of my deep heart reads,
And seeth Love, to punish its misdeeds,
Lighten her piercing eyes with worse disdain.
Wherefore--as one who fears the impending blow
Of angry Jove--it back in haste retires,
For great fears ever master great desires;
But the cold fire and shrinking hopes which so
Lodge in my heart, transparent as a glass,
O'er her sweet face at times make gleams of grace to pass.

MACGREGOR.

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet CXCIII.

Cantai, or piango; e non men di dolcezza.

THOUGH IN THE MIDST OF PAIN, HE DEEMS HIMSELF THE HAPPIEST OF MEN.


    I sang, who now lament; nor less delight
Than in my song I found, in tears I find;
For on the cause and not effect inclined,
My senses still desire to scale that height:
Whence, mildly if she smile or hardly smite,
Cruel and cold her acts, or meek and kind,
All I endure, nor care what weights they bind,
E'en though her rage would break my armour quite.
Let Love and Laura, world and fortune join,
And still pursue their usual course for me,
I care not, if unblest, in life to be.
Let me or burn to death or living pine,
No gentler state than mine beneath the sun,
Since from a source so sweet my bitters run.

MACGREGOR.

Francesco Petrarca