Sonnet IX.

Quando 'l pianeta che distingue l' ore.

WITH A PRESENT OF FRUIT IN SPRING.


    When the great planet which directs the hours
To dwell with Taurus from the North is borne,
Such virtue rays from each enkindled horn,
Rare beauty instantly all nature dowers;
Nor this alone, which meets our sight, that flowers
Richly the upland and the vale adorn,
But Earth's cold womb, else lustreless and lorn,
Is quick and warm with vivifying powers,
Till herbs and fruits, like these I send, are rife.
--So she, a sun amid her fellow fair,
Shedding the rays of her bright eyes on me,
Thoughts, acts, and words of love wakes into life--
But, ah! for me is no new Spring, nor e'er,
Smile they on whom she will, again can be.

MACGREGOR.


    When Taurus in his house doth Phoebus keep,
There pours so bright a virtue from his crest
That Nature wakes, and stands in beauty drest,
The flow'ring meadows start with joy from sleep:
Nor they alone rejoice--earth's bosom deep
(Though not one beam illumes her night of rest)
Responsive smiles, and from her fruitful breast
Gives forth her treasures for her sons to reap.
Thus she, who dwells amid her sex a sun,
Shedding upon my soul her eyes' full light,
Each thought creates, each deed, each word of love:
But though my heart's proud mastery she hath won
Alas! within me dwells eternal night:
My spirit ne'er Spring's genial breath doth prove.

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

Sonnet CXXV.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

Sonnet LXV.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

Sonnet CLXXIX.

Francesco Petrarca, Simple Poetry

Sonnet XCVI.

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 XXXIV.

Ma poi che 'l dolce riso umile e piano.

HER RETURN GLADDENS THE EARTH AND CALMS THE SKY.


    But when her sweet smile, modest and benign,
No longer hides from us its beauties rare,
At the spent forge his stout and sinewy arms
Plieth that old Sicilian smith in vain,
For from the hands of Jove his bolts are taken
Temper'd in Ætna to extremest proof;
And his cold sister by degrees grows calm
And genial in Apollo's kindling beams.
Moves from the rosy west a summer breath,
Which safe and easy wafts the seaward bark,
And wakes the sweet flowers in each grassy mead.
Malignant stars on every side depart,
Dispersed before that bright enchanting face,
For which already many tears are shed.

MACGREGOR.

Francesco Petrarca

Sestina I.

A qualunque animale alberga in terra.

NIGHT BRINGS HIM NO REST. HE IS THE PREY OF DESPAIR.


    To every animal that dwells on earth,
Except to those which have in hate the sun,
Their time of labour is while lasts the day;
But when high heaven relumes its thousand stars,
This seeks his hut, and that its native wood,
Each finds repose, at least until the dawn.

But I, when fresh and fair begins the dawn
To chase the lingering shades that cloak'd the earth,
Wakening the animals in every wood,
No truce to sorrow find while rolls the sun;
And, when again I see the glistening stars,
Still wander, weeping, wishing for the day.

When sober evening chases the bright day,
And this our darkness makes for others dawn,
Pensive I look upon...

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet CLXXXIII.

Il cantar novo e 'l pianger degli augelli.

MORNING.


    The birds' sweet wail, their renovated song,
At break of morn, make all the vales resound;
With lapse of crystal waters pouring round,
In clear, swift runnels, the fresh shores among.
She, whose pure passion knows nor guile nor wrong,
With front of snow, with golden tresses crown'd,
Combing her aged husband's hoar locks found,
Wakes me when sportful wakes the warbling throng.
Thus, roused from sleep, I greet the dawning day,
And its succeeding sun, with one more bright,
Still dazzling, as in early youth, my sight:
Both suns I've seen at once uplift their ray;
This drives the radiance of the stars away,
But that which gilds my life eclipses e'en his light.

NOTT.

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet CXXXII.

Come 'l candido piè per l' erba fresca.

HER WALK, LOOKS, WORDS, AND AIR.


    As o'er the fresh grass her fair form its sweet
And graceful passage makes at evening hours,
Seems as around the newly-wakening flowers
Found virtue issue from her delicate feet.
Love, which in true hearts only has his seat,
Nor elsewhere deigns to prove his certain powers,
So warm a pleasure from her bright eyes showers,
No other bliss I ask, no better meat.
And with her soft look and light step agree
Her mild and modest, never eager air,
And sweetest words in constant union rare.
From these four sparks--nor only these we see--
Springs the great fire wherein I live and burn,
Which makes me from the sun as night-birds turn.

MACGREGOR.

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet CXIV.

O d' ardente virtute ornata e calda.

HE CELEBRATES LAURA'S BEAUTY AND VIRTUE.


    O mind, by ardent virtue graced and warm'd.
To whom my pen so oft pours forth my heart;
Mansion of noble probity, who art
A tower of strength 'gainst all assault full arm'd.
O rose effulgent, in whose foldings, charm'd,
We view with fresh carnation snow take part!
O pleasure whence my wing'd ideas start
To that bless'd vision which no eye, unharm'd,
Created, may approach--thy name, if rhyme
Could bear to Bactra and to Thule's coast,
Nile, Tanaïs, and Calpe should resound,
And dread Olympus.--But a narrower bound
Confines my flight: and thee, our native clime
Between the Alps and Apennine must boast.

CAPEL LOFFT.


    With glowing vir...

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet LXXIX.

Quella fenestra, ove l' un sol si vede.

RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE.


    That window where my sun is often seen
Refulgent, and the world's at morning's hours;
And that, where Boreas blows, when winter lowers,
And the short days reveal a clouded scene;
That bench of stone where, with a pensive mien,
My Laura sits, forgetting beauty's powers;
Haunts where her shadow strikes the walls or flowers,
And her feet press the paths or herbage green:
The place where Love assail'd me with success;
And spring, the fatal time that, first observed,
Revives the keen remembrance every year;
With looks and words, that o'er me have preserved
A power no length of time can render less,
Call to my eyes the sadly-soothing tear.

PENN.


    Tha...

Francesco Petrarca