To Laura In Death. Sonnet XLIV.

A poem by Francesco Petrarca

Nè per sereno cielo ir vaghe stelle.


Not skies serene, with glittering stars inlaid,
Nor gallant ships o'er tranquil ocean dancing,
Nor gay careering knights in arms advancing,
Nor wild herds bounding through the forest glade,
Nor tidings new of happiness delay'd,
Nor poesie, Love's witchery enhancing,
Nor lady's song beside clear fountain glancing,
In beauty's pride, with chastity array'd;
Nor aught of lovely, aught of gay in show,
Shall touch my heart, now cold within her tomb
Who was erewhile my life and light below!
So heavy--tedious--sad--my days unblest,
That I, with strong desire, invoke Death's gloom,
Her to behold, whom ne'er to have seen were best!


Nor stars bright glittering through the cool still air,
Nor proud ships riding on the tranquil main,
Nor armed knights light pricking o'er the plain,
Nor deer in glades disporting void of care,
Nor tidings hoped by recent messenger,
Nor tales of love in high and gorgeous strain,
Nor by clear stream, green mead, or shady lane
Sweet-chaunted roundelay of lady fair;
Nor aught beside my heart shall e'er engage--
Sepulchred, as 'tis henceforth doom'd to be,
With her, my eyes' sole mirror, beam, and bliss.
Oh! how I long this weary pilgrimage
To close; that I again that form may see,
Which never to have seen had been my happiness!


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