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Best Famous Serena Poems

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To His Love When He Had Obtained Her

 Now Serena be not coy, 
Since we freely may enjoy 
Sweet embraces, such delights, 
As will shorten tedious nights. 
Think that beauty will not stay 
With you always, but away, 
And that tyrannizing face 
That now holds such perfect grace 
Will both changed and ruined be; 
So frail is all things as we see, 
So subject unto conquering Time. 
Then gather flowers in their prime, 
Let them not fall and perish so; 
Nature her bounties did bestow 
On us that we might use them, and 
'Tis coldness not to understand 
What she and youth and form persuade 
With opportunity that's made 
As we could wish it. Let's, then, meet 
Often with amorous lips, and greet 
Each other till our wanton kisses 
In number pass the day Ulysses 
Consumed in travel, and the stars 
That look upon our peaceful wars 
With envious luster. If this store 
Will not suffice, we'll number o'er 
The same again, until we find 
No number left to call to mind 
And show our plenty. They are poor 
That can count all they have and more.

Written by Francesco Petrarch |

Sonnet CLXIII

SONNET CLXIII.
 L' aura serena che fra verdi fronde.
 THE GENTLE BREEZE (L' AURA) RECALLS TO HIM THE TIME WHEN HE FIRST SAW HER.
  The gentle gale, that plays my face around,Murmuring sweet mischief through the verdant grove,To fond remembrance brings the time, when LoveFirst gave his deep, although delightful wound;Gave me to view that beauteous face, ne'er foundVeil'd, as disdain or jealousy might move;To view her locks that shone bright gold above,Then loose, but now with pearls and jewels bound:Those locks she sweetly scatter'd to the wind,And then coil'd up again so gracefully,That but to think on it still thrills the sense.These Time has in more sober braids confined;And bound my heart with such a powerful tie,That death alone can disengage it thence.
 Nott.  The balmy airs that from yon leafy sprayMy fever'd brow with playful murmurs greet,Recall to my fond heart the fatal dayWhen Love his first wound dealt, so deep yet sweet,And gave me the fair face—in scorn awaySince turn'd, or hid by jealousy—to meet;The locks, which pearls and gems now oft array,Whose shining tints with finest gold compete,So sweetly on the wind were then display'd,Or gather'd in with such a graceful art,Their very thought with passion thrills my mind.Time since has twined them in more sober braid,And with a snare so powerful bound my heart,Death from its fetters only can unbind.
 Macgregor.

Written by Francesco Petrarch |

Sonnet VIII

SONNET VIII.
 Poichè la vista angelica serena.
 WITH HER, HIS ONLY SOLACE, IS TAKEN AWAY ALL HIS DESIRE OF LIFE.
  Since her calm angel face, long beauty's fane,My beggar'd soul by this brief parting throwsIn darkest horrors and in deepest woes,I seek by uttering to allay my pain.Certes, just sorrow leads me to complain:This she, who is its cause, and Love too shows;No other remedy my poor heart knowsAgainst the troubles that in life obtain.Death! thou hast snatch'd her hence with hand unkind,And thou, glad Earth! that fair and kindly faceNow hidest from me in thy close embrace;Why leave me here, disconsolate and blind,Since she who of mine eyes the light has been,Sweet, loving, bright, no more with me is seen?
 Macgregor.