Sonnet XVIII
[Pg 249]
SONNET XVIII.
Se quell' aura soave de' sospiri.
SHE RETURNS IN PITY TO COMFORT HIM WITH HER ADVICE.
If that soft breath of sighs, which, from above,I hear of her so long my lady here,Who, now in heaven, yet seems, as of our sphere,To breathe, and move, to feel, and live, and love,I could but paint, my passionate verse should moveWarmest desires; so jealous, yet so dearO'er me she bends and breathes, without a fear,That on the way I tire, or turn, or rove.She points the path on high: and I who knowHer chaste anxiety and earnest prayer,In whispers sweet, affectionate, and low,Train, at her will, my acts and wishes there:And find such sweetness in her words aloneAs with their power should melt the hardest stone.
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