Sonnet CCXVIII
SONNET CCXVIII.
Far potess' io vendetta di colei.
HIS SOUL VISITS HER IN SLEEP.
Oh! that from her some vengeance I could wrestWith words and glances who my peace destroys,And then abash'd, for my worse sorrow, flies,Veiling her eyes so cruel, yet so blest;Thus mine afflicted spirits and oppress'dBy sure degrees she sorely drains and dries,And in my heart, as savage lion, criesEven at night, when most I should have rest.My soul, which sleep expels from his abode,The body leaves, and, from its trammels free,Seeks her whose mien so often menace show'd.I marvel much, if heard its advent be,That while to her it spake, and o'er her wept,And round her clung, asleep she alway kept.
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