To Laura In Death. Sonnet LXXX.

A poem by Francesco Petrarca

Ogni giorno mi par più di mill' anni.

FAR FROM FEARING, HE PRAYS FOR DEATH.


Each day to me seems as a thousand years,
That I my dear and faithful star pursue,
Who guided me on earth, and guides me too
By a sure path to life without its tears.
For in the world, familiar now, appears
No snare to tempt; so rare a light and true
Shines e'en from heaven my secret conscience through,
Of lost time and loved sin the glass it rears.
Not that I need the threats of death to dread,
(Which He who loved us bore with greater pain)
That, firm and constant, I his path should tread:
'Tis but a brief while since in every vein
Of her he enter'd who my fate has been,
Yet troubled not the least her brow serene.

MACGREGOR.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'To Laura In Death. Sonnet LXXX.' by Francesco Petrarca

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy