English

WHEREIN THE POET ARGUES WITH HIS HEART P .

What act, what dream possesses thee, my Soul?
Speak, is it parley, peace, or endless war? H .
Our fate is dark, but this is still in store:
We are in danger when her bright orbs roll. P .
What profit when those eyes at will control
Our spirits, till suns freeze and frosts burn sore? H .
Hers not the fault, since her love burns the more. P .
No good to me, when she withholds her dole. H .
How often, when the tongue is mute, the heart
Groans grievously! How often the calm look

WHEREIN HE APOSTROPHIZES THE LAUREL AND ITS ATTENDANT WATER

Not Tesin, Po, the Arno, Tiber, nor
Euphrates, Tigris, Indus, Ganges, Nile,
Nor Rhone, Garonne, nor streams of any style,
Nor all the trees of all earth's fertile store —
Not one cool drop, not one dram can these pour
To check the flame which eats my heart the while —
Nay, but one brook weeps balm of camomile,
And one dear poet's branch heals me far more.
This single succour do I find, this one:
Wherefore meseems I should so live my life

WHEREIN HER GLANCES SOOTHE AND CHECK HIM

When passion, that with double ardent spurs
And stubborn bit leads and constrains my paces,
Transgresses now and then the common graces
To suit the sighs of Love's idolaters,
Her it discovers, since the sign is hers
Who reads the deep heart's dread in ravaged traces
Upon my patent forehead, while Love faces
A light more piercing than the glance it stirs.
So that, like one who fears the falling blow
Of furious Jupiter, the will retires,

WHEREIN HE SINGS LAURA TO ITALY

O warmed with ardent virtue and adorned,
Gentlest of souls, for whom my pen has power;
House of unique integrity, white tower
Unshakable, against assault forewarned;
O flame, O roses where Narcissus scorned
His own sweet image for a sweeter flower!
O bliss through which the soul can stretch an hour
Of light! O lovely face that soul has mourned
As inaccessible! If your name's praise
Could reach, I should fill Bactra and bless Thule,
Nile, Tanais, Calpe and Olympus duly;

WHEREIN HE AFFIRMS HIS INVINCIBLE DEVOTION

Place me where the sun shrivels grass and flower,
Or where the ice and snow are marble kings,
Or where his golden chariot glides on wings,
Where he refrains, where lingers a long hour;
Place me where fortunes laugh, where fortunes glower,
In the soft air, or in the air that stings;
Place me in night, in day that darts or clings,
In the ripe summer or the season sour.
Place me in heaven, on earth, in the abyss,
On a high hill or in a dungeon valley,

WHEREIN HE RECALLS THE FIRST SIGHT OF LAURA AND LOVE

Never so splendidly did the sun arise
When the sky stood most purged of taint and mist,
Nor, after rain, has the rainbow's amethyst
In the washed air displayed so many dyes
As are the colours that against my eyes
Dazzled that day I strapped upon my wrist
Love's load, that face (the florid I resist
In speech) beyond all mortal rivalries.
I saw Love turning, saw his eyes at turning
Look with such light upon me, such sweet burning

TO ONE WHO MENTIONS LAURA

Whenever I hear you speak of her in those
Sweet tones which Love hath taught his votaries,
My flaming passions reach such ecstasies
As might from death restore the withered rose;
Wherever she was kind to me, there glows
The bright Madonna moving at her ease
With that demeanour which, my thought to tease,
Needed no sound but of my sighing woes.
I see her turning, looking, the gold hair
Outblown, her terrible beauty flooding back
Upon my heart whereof she is the warder;

WHEREIN HE FANCIES HIMSELF LIKE THAT INSECT WHICH, DARTING INTO ONE'S EYES, THERE MEETS ITS DEATH

As when at times in summer's livid spells,
Witched by the glare, the simple insect flies,
Like something charmed, into the passer's eyes,
Whence pain the one and death the other quells,
Forever thus my fatal sun compels
Flight to those deep blue stars of paradise,
All reason overcome, Love fierce, unwise,
Judgment by impulse crowned with cap and bells.
Distinctly I perceive no good they cherish,

WHEREIN HE ENLARGES UPON LOVE'S COURAGE AND COWARDICE

The long Love that is sovereign to my mind
And in my heart maintains his purple place,
With arrogant stride presses into my face,
Camps, flaunts his flag, parades there proud and blind:
She, that instructs to love and helps us find
Anguish therein, she would our heat abase
By reins of reason, shame and reverent grace,
And in our flesh the spurs of anger grind.
Whereupon Love to the heart's forest flies,
With sharp dismay quitting his enterprise,

WHEREIN THE EXILE CONSIDERS HIS FRIENDS

The more my own poor wishes would commend me
To turn my steps to you, sweet friends, this hour
In the severe shape of some blinding Power
The more prevents and drives me; and, to bend me,
Though I fling forth my whole heart; and, to end me,
Fortune works snare and spell: but still its tower
My heart builds in your hearts, its green sweet bower
With you where vale and sea would once befriend me —
Our sea which twisted right when I turned left —