Petrarch and Laura
A TASTE Francesco Petrarch had
For dialects, and leeks, and verses,
Though Laura was his best-known fad
But Laura loved her Husband (Curses!)
Through twenty long and tragic years
That burned Francesco's soul like acid —
(He melted several Alps with tears) —
Laura remained at home ... quite placid.
She loved her Husband, Laura did:
Please fix that vital fact securely.
When Petrarch called her " Heavenly kid! "
She'd blush and drop her eyes demurely.
Not that he ever saw her more
Than once or twice in any quarter ...
Food took his time, dialects, and war ...
For months she'd think he'd stopped it, sorter.
'Twas A. D. 1331
He studied Greek (historians say so)
And sang, " She warms me like the sun! "
And boned up P. Ovidius Naso.
I think 'twas 1339
He learned the speech of Kurds and Coptics,
And, flushed with love and Tuscan wine,
Penned three canzoni to her optics.
In 1328 he wrote,
" I cannot live a year without her! "
In 1346 I note
A similar remark about her.
From thirteen-twenty-nine to thirt-
Een-hundred-forty-eight she never
(Though he septennial tried to flirt)
Smiled once upon his bold endeavour.
She loved her Husband. And her Home.
She loved her Babes. She had eleven,
While Petrarch wrote pome after pome —
Sonnets three-hundred-twenty-seven!
And all white-toothed Italia smiled,
Commenting pleasantly upon it —
" Dear Laura has another child! "
" Hast lamped Petrarco's latest sonnet? "
She perished: (1348).
" Alas, " he sighed, " I never kissed her! "
His sonnets, onward from that date,
Lead one to think he somehow missed her ...
She died, and Earth held little more:
Vain all its garlic, gauds and laughter!
He pined. In 1374,
Not thirty years, he followed after.
By Venus, in those Southern climes,
How quick and reckless is love's fashion!
In colder latitudes and times
We dwell and learn to curb our passion.
For dialects, and leeks, and verses,
Though Laura was his best-known fad
But Laura loved her Husband (Curses!)
Through twenty long and tragic years
That burned Francesco's soul like acid —
(He melted several Alps with tears) —
Laura remained at home ... quite placid.
She loved her Husband, Laura did:
Please fix that vital fact securely.
When Petrarch called her " Heavenly kid! "
She'd blush and drop her eyes demurely.
Not that he ever saw her more
Than once or twice in any quarter ...
Food took his time, dialects, and war ...
For months she'd think he'd stopped it, sorter.
'Twas A. D. 1331
He studied Greek (historians say so)
And sang, " She warms me like the sun! "
And boned up P. Ovidius Naso.
I think 'twas 1339
He learned the speech of Kurds and Coptics,
And, flushed with love and Tuscan wine,
Penned three canzoni to her optics.
In 1328 he wrote,
" I cannot live a year without her! "
In 1346 I note
A similar remark about her.
From thirteen-twenty-nine to thirt-
Een-hundred-forty-eight she never
(Though he septennial tried to flirt)
Smiled once upon his bold endeavour.
She loved her Husband. And her Home.
She loved her Babes. She had eleven,
While Petrarch wrote pome after pome —
Sonnets three-hundred-twenty-seven!
And all white-toothed Italia smiled,
Commenting pleasantly upon it —
" Dear Laura has another child! "
" Hast lamped Petrarco's latest sonnet? "
She perished: (1348).
" Alas, " he sighed, " I never kissed her! "
His sonnets, onward from that date,
Lead one to think he somehow missed her ...
She died, and Earth held little more:
Vain all its garlic, gauds and laughter!
He pined. In 1374,
Not thirty years, he followed after.
By Venus, in those Southern climes,
How quick and reckless is love's fashion!
In colder latitudes and times
We dwell and learn to curb our passion.
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