English

WHEREIN HIS LIBERTY IS SAVED TO HIM BY THE DEATH OF ANOTHER LADY

That fiery snare in which I used to flame,
While for two decades and a year I bore it,
Death has unfastened: never pain before it
Of such intensity touched me, never the same.
But Love, still bent my tortured soul to tame,
So spread his net my heart could scarce ignore it,
So fed the fire, so trapped my heart and tore it,
That no escape could save me from the shame.
Had I not learned from my first agonies,
I should long since have nourished his fierce hunger —

WHEREIN HE LAMENTS HIS TWOFOLD LOSS IN LAURA AND COLONNA

The lofty Column and the Laurel fall
That gave pavilion to my heart's despair;
I shall not find their equal anywhere,
Though every sea I search and wind and wall.
My double wealth — lost, lost beyond recall
Life's pride and pleasure mated for me there:
Lands cannot buy them back nor kings unsnare,
Nor gold nor gems deliver them at all.
Against this doom what strength to consecrate
Save that of tears that blind these futile eyes,

WHEREIN HE RECEIVES TIDINGS OF LAURA'S DEATH

Alas! that liquid look, that lovely face!
Alas! the poised grace of that golden head!
Alas! the sweetness of the words she said
That soothed the savage breast, raised up the base!
Alas! the smile — that dart which I embrace,
Whose hope is death now that all hope is dead;
O hadst thou not so late inhabited
This earth, how queenly would have been thy place!
In thee I burn, in thee still draw my breath,
Being all thine. Death now has disciplined

WHEREIN HE LAMENTS HIS SEPARATION FROM HIS TWIN LIGHTS, LAURA AND COLONNA

O good milord, thoughts, wishes all inclined
My constant heart to visit one so dear;
But Fortune (that erratic Charioteer!)
Kept me in leash, misled, pulled up behind.
Since when the sweet desire Love breathed in mind
Leads to a death I do not see, but fear;
And while my two lights are denied me here,
Wherever I am, there is my soul confined.
Affection for milord, love of my Laura —
By these bonds and in torments bitter long

WHEREIN PERSISTENT HOPE MAY WEAR HER STONINESS DOWN

Heart cold and hard, with will as hard and cold
In angel form of sweet humility
If thus too long her rigour punish me,
Time will her triumph all too soon unfold;
When flower and leaf are born, or turn to mold,
When day is clearest, in night's mystery
Alike I weep: Love, Laura, Destiny
Give me good cause for sorrow, new and old.
I live on hope alone, remembering
How by continued dint of tiny drops
I have seen solid stone and marble groove:

LAURA'S GARLAND OF VIRTUES

Laurel, O tree of triumph, proudest crown
Of emperors and poets with thy leaf
Victorious, how much of joy and grief
Have I by dint of thee in one breath known!
Lady, indifferent to the world's renown,
Sweet sovereign of the will, the virtuous sheaf
Thou gatherest, fearing not that subtile thief,
Love and his snares: thy wisdom is thine own.
The pride of blood and worldly treasure-gems,
Of pearl and gold and rubies — these are less
Than dust in thy regard; even the blaze

WHEREIN LIFE WITHOUT HONOUR IS UNTHINKABLE

In lovely woman life should claim the first
Concern, and honour should the next claim press;
Nay, lacking honour, what an emptiness!
What good corrupted and what bliss accurst!
She that hath honour's fragile rampart burst,
Sexless and lifeless, though still beauty's dress
She wear, a death in life she must confess,
A hell of shame and flame and feverish thirst!
Lucretia's end no marvel is to me,
Save that, when in the last extremity

WHEREIN LAURA'S EYES ENSHRINE THE MAXIMS OF PERFECTION

What woman longs for that illustrious fame
Jewelled with courage, mind and courtesy?
Let her on those bright eyes fix hers and see
My lovely foe, whom men my friend misname.
There let her learn with love of God to flame,
With honour glow, how native grace can be
More golden, and by what proud certainty
To touch the heaven that awaits her with acclaim.
The liquid converse that no pen may capture
Is there; the splendid silence and the pure

BURDEN OF FAIR WOMEN

In such a star I saw two bright eyes turning,
With so much worth and sweetness over-brimming,
That soon before those wells of Love my yearning
And tired heart could bear no lesser hymning:
None matched her, none in times and places dimming,
Of any for whose beauty men went burning;
Not even she whose lustre left Troy swimming
In blood and shattered Greece with her returning.
Nor yet the radiant Roman who, with dagger
Drinking her pure and outraged bosom, banished

WHEREIN HE IS LOATH TO REMEMBER WHERE HE HAS LEFT LAURA

I seek a life remote and solitary,
As the wild rivers, fields and forests know,
To escape the blind, to shun the sordid so,
Whereof the wise and virtuous are wary;
And were my wish my will, I would not tarry
Under this Tuscan blue where soft airs flow,
But, singing, up to hill-dark Sorga go,
And, sighing, in its sighs find sanctuary.
But ah, as ever hostile Destiny
Forces my footsteps where my grief discloses
Amid the mire my garland of proud roses: