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Petrarch's Poems - mentioned in the chapter
Alone and
thoughtful, through the most desolate fields,
I go measuring out
slow, hesitant paces,
and keep my eyes
intent on fleeing
any place where
human footsteps mark the sand.
I find no other
defence to protect me
from other people’s
open notice,
since in my aspect,
whose joy is quenched,
they see from
outside how I flame within.
So now I believe
that mountains and river-banks
and rivers and
forests know the quality
of my life, hidden
from others.
Yet I find there is
no path so wild or harsh
that love will not
always come there
speaking with me,
and I with him.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
What must I
do? What do you counsel, Love?
The time has truly
come to die,
and I have lingered
longer than I wish.
My lady is dead,
and my heart with her:
and if I wish to
follow,
I must interrupt
this cruel life,
since I have no
more hope
of seeing her here,
and waiting galls me.
Now all my joy
has turned to
weeping at her going,
all sweetness has
been taken from my life.
Love, you feel how
deep and bitter
is this loss, where
I grieve with you:
and know the weight
and pain of my ill,
or rather ours,
because a reef
has shattered the
vessel,
and in a moment our
sun is darkened.
What ingenuity with
words
could express my
grievous state?
Ah, blind,
thankless world,
you’ve good reason
to weep with me,
since what was
beautiful in you is lost with her.
Fallen is your glory,
and you do not see it,
nor were you
worthy, while she
lived here, to have
known her,
nor even to have
been touched by her sacred feet,
because so lovely a
thing
had to adorn heaven
with her presence.
But I, alas, who
without her
cannot love mortal
life or myself,
weep cruelly for
her:
this is all I have
of all my hopes,
and this alone is
what still keeps me here.
Ah me, that lovely
face is turned to dust,
that used to be the
pledge to us,
down here, of
heaven and its good:
her form, invisible
in paradise,
freed from that
veil,
that shadowed the
flower of her years,
later to be worn
once more,
and never more
relinquished.
when we shall see
her again
dear and lovely,
more, by as much
as eternal beauty
exceeds mortal.
She returns, more
lovely and more graceful
a lady, within me,
where
she feels the sight
of herself is more exalted.
This is one pillar
of my life,
the other her
bright name
that sounds so
sweetly in my heart.
But recalling in my
mind
that my hope is
truly dead, living
while she flowered,
Love knows what I
become, and she (I hope)
can see it now who
is so near to Truth.
Ladies, you who
have seen her beauty
and the angelic
life
that heavenly one
lived on earth,
show me your grief,
and be overcome
by pity, not for
here who leapt
into such peace,
but for me left in this war:
so that if the way
to follow her is
barred to me for long
only Love, speaking
with me,
stops me from
severing the knot.
For he reasons like
this inside me:
‘Rein in the great
grief that transports you,
lest your over-riding
desire
loses you heaven,
to which your heart aspires,
where she lives who
seems dead to others,
and smiles to
herself at her
own lovely
leavings, and only sighs for you:
and prays that her
fame, that breathes
still in many
places, through your words,
is not
extinguished,
rather that, if her
eyes were ever dear
and sweet to you,
your voice illuminate her name.’
Flee the fresh and
blithe,
don’t go near
laughter or song,
my song, but weep:
don’t take your
place among happy people,
widow,
disconsolate, in your black dress.
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