Sonnet CXCIX.

Lasso! Amor mi trasporta ov' io non voglio.

HE EXCUSES HIMSELF FOR VISITING LAURA TOO OFTEN, AND LOVING HER TOO MUCH.


    Alas! Love bears me where I would not go,
And well I see how duty is transgress'd,
And how to her who, queen-like, rules my breast,
More than my wont importunate I grow.
Never from rocks wise sailor guarded so
His ship of richest merchandise possess'd,
As evermore I shield my bark distress'd
From shocks of her hard pride that would o'erthrow
Torrents of tears, fierce winds of infinite sighs
--For, in my sea, nights horrible and dark
And pitiless winter reign--have driven my bark,
Sail-less and helm-less where it shatter'd lies,
Or, drifting at the mercy of the main,
Trouble to others bears, distress to me and pain.

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 LXXXVIII.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

To Laura In Death. Sonnet X.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

Sonnet CCXXI.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

To Laura In Death. Sonnet LII.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

English

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

Sonnet CCXXVII.

Signor mio caro, ogni pensier mi tira.

HE LAMENTS HIS ABSENCE FROM LAURA AND COLONNA, THE ONLY OBJECTS OF HIS AFFECTION.


    My lord and friend! thoughts, wishes, all inclined
My heart to visit one so dear to me,
But Fortune--can she ever worse decree?--
Held me in hand, misled, or kept behind.
Since then the dear desire Love taught my mind
But leads me to a death I did not see,
And while my twin lights, wheresoe'er I be,
Are still denied, by day and night I've pined.
Affection for my lord, my lady's love,
The bonds have been wherewith in torments long
I have been bound, which round myself I wove.
A Laurel green, a Column fair and strong,
This for three lustres, that for three years more
In my fond breast, nor wish'd it free, I bore.
<...

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet VI.

Sì traviato è 'l folle mio desio.

OF HIS FOOLISH PASSION FOR LAURA.


    So wayward now my will, and so unwise,
To follow her who turns from me in flight,
And, from love's fetters free herself and light,
Before my slow and shackled motion flies,
That less it lists, the more my sighs and cries
Would point where passes the safe path and right,
Nor aught avails to check or to excite,
For Love's own nature curb and spur defies.
Thus, when perforce the bridle he has won,
And helpless at his mercy I remain,
Against my will he speeds me to mine end
'Neath yon cold laurel, whose false boughs upon
Hangs the harsh fruit, which, tasted, spreads the pain
I sought to stay, and mars where it should mend.

MACGREGOR.


    My tamel...

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet XV.

Piovonmi amare lagrime dal viso.

HIS STATE WHEN LAURA IS PRESENT, AND WHEN SHE DEPARTS.


    Down my cheeks bitter tears incessant rain,
And my heart struggles with convulsive sighs,
When, Laura, upon you I turn my eyes,
For whom the world's allurements I disdain,
But when I see that gentle smile again,
That modest, sweet, and tender smile, arise,
It pours on every sense a blest surprise;
Lost in delight is all my torturing pain.
Too soon this heavenly transport sinks and dies:
When all thy soothing charms my fate removes
At thy departure from my ravish'd view.
To that sole refuge its firm faith approves
My spirit from my ravish'd bosom flies,
And wing'd with fond remembrance follows you.

CAPEL LOFFT.


    Tears, b...

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet XIII.

Io mi rivolgo indietro a ciascun passo.

ON QUITTING LAURA.


    With weary frame which painfully I bear,
I look behind me at each onward pace,
And then take comfort from your native air,
Which following fans my melancholy face;
The far way, my frail life, the cherish'd fair
Whom thus I leave, as then my thoughts retrace,
I fix my feet in silent pale despair,
And on the earth my tearful eyes abase.
At times a doubt, too, rises on my woes,
"How ever can this weak and wasted frame
Live from life's spirit and one source afar?"
Love's answer soon the truth forgotten shows--
"This high pure privilege true lovers claim,
Who from mere human feelings franchised are!"

MACGREGOR.


    I look behind each step I onward trace,

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet LXXXVI.

Lasso! quante fiate Amor m' assale.

WHEN LOVE DISTURBS HIM, HE CALMS HIMSELF BY THINKING OF THE EYES AND WORDS OF LAURA.


    Alas! how ceaselessly is urged Love's claim,
By day, by night, a thousand times I turn
Where best I may behold the dear lights burn
Which have immortalized my bosom's flame.
Thus grow I calm, and to such state am brought,
At noon, at break of day, at vesper-bell,
I find them in my mind so tranquil dwell,
I neither think nor care beside for aught.
The balmy air, which, from her angel mien,
Moves ever with her winning words and wise,
Makes wheresoe'er she breathes a sweet serene
As 'twere a gentle spirit from the skies,
Still in these scenes some comfort brings to me,
Nor elsewhere breathes my harass'd heart so free.

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet CCIV.

Mira quel colle, o stanco mio cor vago.

HE BIDS HIS HEART RETURN TO LAURA, NOT PERCEIVING THAT IT HAD NEVER LEFT HER.


P.    Look on that hill, my fond but harass'd heart!
        Yestreen we left her there, who 'gan to take
        Some care of us and friendlier looks to dart;
        Now from our eyes she draws a very lake:
        Return alone--I love to be apart--
        Try, if perchance the day will ever break
        To mitigate our still increasing smart,
        Partner and prophet of my lifelong ache.
H. O wretch! in whom vain thoughts and idle swell,
        Thou, who thyself hast tutor'd to forget,
        Speak'st to thy heart as if 'twere with thee yet?
        When to thy greatest bliss thou saidst farewell,
        ...

Francesco Petrarca