English

LAURA IN A DREAM TELLS HIM SHE WILL RECOVER

Already in the east the amorous star
Flamed through the sky, while from the noble north
The cause of Juno's jealousy poured forth
Her wheeling beams, brilliant and singular;
Half-naked and barefoot, the crone of care
Quickens the coals, her spindle at the hearth;
And lovers feel the hour of amorous birth
Which pricks to tears (what burning tears these are!) —
When my dear hope, now at the green last inch
Of candle, reached my heart, not through my eyes

ON LAURA PERILOUSLY ILL

This gentle spirit that must now depart
Before her time, called to the lovelier realm,
If, as must be, hosannas overwhelm,
She will be guest in Heaven's holiest chart.
There, between Venus and Mars' glittering dart
If she remain, the sun will wear a film,
Because, as bright birds cluster on an elm,
The blessed souls will swarm to see that heart
Of infinite beauty. If the fourth fierce nest
She choose, the other three will fade beside,
And she alone in loveliness abide;

ON LAURA PERILOUSLY ILL

This gentle spirit that must now depart
Before her time, called to the lovelier realm,
If, as must be, hosannas overwhelm,
She will be guest in Heaven's holiest chart.
There, between Venus and Mars' glittering dart
If she remain, the sun will wear a film,
Because, as bright birds cluster on an elm,
The blessed souls will swarm to see that heart
Of infinite beauty. If the fourth fierce nest
She choose, the other three will fade beside,
And she alone in loveliness abide;

ON THE CRUSADE OF THE EMPEROR AGAINST THE INFIDEL, AND THE POPE'S RETURN TO ROME

The proud successor of Charlemagne, whose hair
The crown of his great ancestor adorns,
Already takes up arms to break the horns
Of Babylon and her children everywhere;
And Christ's pure vicar, with his load to bear
Of keys and cloak, returning home (if thorns
Of some ill stop him not till he returns)
Shall see Bologna and to Rome repair.
Best to your meek Florentian lamb belongs
The noble conquest of the Wolf; and so

UPON THE SAME THEME

Moved never a ship more happy to the shore
Than I — no ship by wind and water crossed;
The sailors, hope and courage lately lost,
Kneel now and happy praise to God outpour.
Nor ever from his death-cell captive tore
The noose around his neck, with such joy tossed
The rope away, milord whom wars exhaust,
As was my joy to see the sword of war
Abandoned. O all ye who love Love's rhyme,
Applaud the weaver of the passionate song
Who was but lately lost: since more sublime

TO STRAMAZZO OF PERUGIA, WHO INVITED HIM TO WRITE VERSES

If the proud branch, whose honoured leaf defies
The fury of Heaven when Jove thunders loud,
Had not prevented me from being proud
By keeping me uncrowned, my ardent eyes
Should bend with you in your idolatries,
To which our craven age has never bowed;
Alas, that laurelled injury has cowed
My spirit and forced me from the olive trees!
For Ethiopian earth beneath its sun
Never with such heat hissed, as burns my drouth
At loss of what I set my soul upon.

TO STRAMAZZO OF PERUGIA, WHO INVITED HIM TO WRITE VERSES

If the proud branch, whose honoured leaf defies
The fury of Heaven when Jove thunders loud,
Had not prevented me from being proud
By keeping me uncrowned, my ardent eyes
Should bend with you in your idolatries,
To which our craven age has never bowed;
Alas, that laurelled injury has cowed
My spirit and forced me from the olive trees!
For Ethiopian earth beneath its sun
Never with such heat hissed, as burns my drouth
At loss of what I set my soul upon.

WHEREIN HIS HEART, BY LAURA REJECTED, MUST OF A CERTAINTY PERISH UNLESS SHE RELENT

A thousand times, O my sweet warrior,
Burning to purchase peace of those proud eyes,
Have I held forth the heart your heart denies,
Which your nobility will not bend for.
And if some other lady love it more,
Vain is her hope and false: what you despise
I must disdain, since what you do not prize
I spurn, and what you hate cannot adore.
Exiled by me, what then if it shall find
With you no word of mercy now or later,

WHEREIN THE PRAISES OF HIS LADY TRANSCEND HIS SKILL

Shamed often by the thought that still unsung
Dear Lady, is your beauty in my rhyme,
I go back to the unforgettable time
When first I saw you (moment that has clung
Supremely to my heart). But I have wrung
No rapture worthy of you from the chime
Of my poor syllables; nor can ever climb
The mountain where the difficult harp is hung.
Again and again on point to speak your name
I opened my lips, only to feel again
My voice locked in my breast. O what pure flame

WHEREIN HE LIKENS HIMSELF TO A MOTH

Creatures there are of such a glittering sight
It is its own defence against the sun;
Others that hide until the day is done,
Lest they be blinded with excess of light;
And others still whom brightness will excite
To madness, and inflame them till they run
Headlong into the heat! And such an one
Alas! am I, consumed in fiery flight.
For I have not the strength that can withstand
The dazzling light of Laura, nor discern
In darkness and descending hours a hand