Written by
Francesco Petrarch |
SONNET CLI. Amor, Natura, e la bell' alma umile. DURING A SERIOUS ILLNESS OF LAURA. Love, Nature, Laura's gentle self combines,She where each lofty virtue dwells and reigns,[Pg 169]Against my peace: To pierce with mortal painsLove toils—such ever are his stern designs.Nature by bonds so slight to earth confinesHer slender form, a breath may break its chains;And she, so much her heart the world disdains,Longer to tread life's wearying round repines.Hence still in her sweet frame we view decayAll that to earth can joy and radiance lend,Or serve as mirror to this laggard age;And Death's dread purpose should not Pity stay,Too well I see where all those hopes must end,With which I fondly soothed my lingering pilgrimage. Wrangham. Love, Nature, and that gentle soul as bright,Where every lofty virtue dwells and reigns,Are sworn against my peace. As wont, Love strainsHis every power that I may perish quite.Nature her delicate form by bonds so slightHolds in existence, that no help sustains;She is so modest that she now disdainsLonger to brook this vile life's painful fight.Thus fades and fails the spirit day by day,Which on those dear and lovely limbs should wait,Our mirror of true grace which wont to give:And soon, if Mercy turn not Death away,Alas! too well I see in what sad stateAre those vain hopes wherein I loved to live.
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Written by
William Shakespeare |
Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove:
For, thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body's treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no father reason;
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience hold it that I call
Her 'love' for whose dear love I rise and fall.
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