When music warbles from each thorn,And Zephyr's dewy wingsSweep the young flowers; what time the mornHer crimson radiance flings:Then, as the smiling year renews,I feel renew'd Love's tender pain;Renew'd is Laura's cold disdain;And I for comfort court the weeping muse.
Oh! could my sighs in accents flowSo musically lorn,That thou might'st catch my am'rous woe,And cease, proud Maid! thy scorn:Yet, ere within thy icy breastThe smallest spark of passion's found,Winter's cold temples shall be boundWith all the blooms that paint spring's glowing vest.
The drops that bathe the grief-dew'd eye,The love-impassion'd strainTo move thy flinty bosom tryFull oft;—but, ah! in vainWould tears, and melting song avail;As vainly might the silken breeze,That bends the flowers, that fans the trees,Some rugged rock's tremendous brow assail.
Both gods and men alike are sway'dBy Love, as poets tell;—And I, when flowers in every shadeTheir bursting gems reveal,First felt his all-subduing power:While Laura knows not yet the smart;Nor heeds the tortures of my heart,My prayers, my plaints, and sorrow's pearly shower!
Thy wrongs, my soul! with patience bear,While life shall warm this clay;And soothing sounds to Laura's earMy numbers shall convey;[Pg 211]Numbers with forceful magic charmAll nature o'er the frost-bound earth,Wake summer's fragrant buds to birth,And the fierce serpent of its rage disarm. The blossom'd shrubs in smiles are drest,Now laughs his purple plain;And shall the nymph a foe profestTo tenderness remain?But oh! what solace shall I find,If fortune dooms me yet to bearThe frowns of my relentless Fair,Save with soft moan to vex the pitying wind?In baffling nets the light-wing'd galeI'd fetter as it blows,The vernal rose that scents the valeI'd cull on wintery snows;Still I'd ne'er hope that mind to moveWhich dares defy the wiles of verse, and Love.
Summaries, Analysis, and Information on "Sestina VIII"
More Poems by Francesco Petrarch