Written by
Francesco Petrarch |
SONNET XLI. Perch' io t' abbia guardato di menzogna. IN HER PRESENCE HE CAN NEITHER SPEAK, WEEP, NOR SIGH. Although from falsehood I did thee restrainWith all my power, and paid thee honour due,Ungrateful tongue; yet never did accrueHonour from thee, but shame, and fierce disdain:Most art thou cold, when most I want the strainThy aid should lend while I for pity sue;And all thy utterance is imperfect too,When thou dost speak, and as the dreamer's vain.Ye too, sad tears, throughout each lingering nightUpon me wait, when I alone would stay;But, needed by my peace, you take your flight:And, all so prompt anguish and grief t' impart,Ye sighs, then slow, and broken breathe your way:My looks alone truly reveal my heart. Nott. With all my power, lest falsehood should invade,I guarded thee and still thy honour sought,Ungrateful tongue! who honour ne'er hast brought,But still my care with rage and shame repaid:[Pg 50]For, though to me most requisite, thine aid,When mercy I would ask, availeth nought,Still cold and mute, and e'en to words if wroughtThey seem as sounds in sleep by dreamers made.And ye, sad tears, o' nights, when I would fainBe left alone, my sure companions, flow,But, summon'd for my peace, ye soon depart:Ye too, mine anguish'd sighs, so prompt to pain,Then breathe before her brokenly and slow,And my face only speaks my suffering heart. Macgregor.
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