You who hear the sound, in scattered rhymes,įor all the modes in which I talk and weep, ‘Voi ch’ascoltate in rime sparse il suono’ Blessed be the day, and the month, and the year,ġ.

The gentle tree that I’ve loved many years,.My luck is always late and slow to reach me,.If, through blind desire that destroys the heart,.That fire that I thought had been quenched.Because she bore Love’s emblems in her aspect,.Gentle spirit, that rules those members.Diana was not more pleasing to her lover,.If the light had neared my eyes a little.Since fire is never quenched with fire,.I felt those spirits weakening in my heart.The gold and pearls and flowers, crimson and white,.Mirror, my enemy, in which you are allowed.Caesar who was all too ready, in Thessaly,.Apollo, Latona’s son, had sent his gaze.But now that her clear sweet humble smile.If Love or Death do not bring some flaw.I’m the afraid of those lovely eyes’ assault.The thread on which my heavy life hangs.If I believed I could free myself, by dying,.Alone and thoughtful, through the most desolate fields,.Apollo, if that sweet desire is still alive.

Already Venus, the star of love, was blazing.

Green dresses, crimson, black or purple,.

O blessed and lovely spirit expected in Heaven.

Charlemagne’s scion, whose head is adorned.

No ship, beaten and conquered by the waves,.

Love wept, and sometimes I wept with him,.

I’ll sing of the sweet time of my first youth,.

I have offered you my heart a thousand times.

There are creatures in the world with such other.

When I have turned my eyes to that place.

When from hour to hour among the other ladies.

If my life of bitter torment and of tears.

When the heavenly body that tells the hours.

At the foot of the hill where beauty’s garment.

When I utter sighs, in calling out to you,.

You who hear the sound, in scattered rhymes,.

‘Avignon’ - Histoire des Villes de France (p92, Paris 1844), Aristide Guilbert, The British Library Laura, famous for her own virtues, and so long celebrated in my verses, was first seen by me in my early youth, in the year of our Lord 1327, on the sixth of April, in the Church of Saint Clare at Avignon, in the morning hour: and that light was taken from daylight in the same city, in the same month, on the same sixth day, in the same first morning hour, but in the year 1348, when I chanced to be in Verona, sadly unaware of my fate. ‘Morning Prayer’ - Charles West (British, 1811 - 1890), The Yale Centre for British Art This work may be freely reproduced, stored and transmitted, electronically or otherwise, for any non-commercial purpose. Petrarch Poems 1 to 61 of ‘The Canzoniere’

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