Sonnet CLXXV.

A poem by Francesco Petrarca

Non dall' Ispano Ibero all' Indo Idaspe.


From Spanish Ebro to Hydaspes old,
Exploring ocean in its every nook,
From the Red Sea to the cold Caspian shore,
In earth, in heaven one only Phoenix dwells.
What fortunate, or what disastrous bird
Omen'd my fate? which Parca winds my yarn,
That I alone find Pity deaf as asp,
And wretched live who happy hoped to be?
Let me not speak of her, but him her guide,
Who all her heart with love and sweetness fills--
Gifts which, from him o'erflowing, follow her,
Who, that my sweets may sour and cruel be,
Dissembleth, careth not, or will not see
That silver'd, ere my time, these temples are.


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