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Di pensier in pensier, di monte in monte - Francesco Petrarch, Some Love Songs [1915]

Edition used:

Some Love Songs of Petrarch, translated and annotated with a Biographical Introduction by William Dudley Foulke (Oxford University Press, 1915).

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Di pensier in pensier, di monte in monte

    • From fancy unto fancy, peak to peak,
    • Love guideth me. Frequented ways I fly.
    • The paths of men are irksome to my peace;
    • But if on lonely shore a fount or creek
    • Or shadowy vale between the hills doth lie,
    • There doth the tumult of my spirit cease;
    • And then, as Love may please
    • I laugh, I tremble, I am bold, I weep;
    • My face reflects my soul where’er I go,
    • And bright or dark doth grow,
    • Yet but a little time its mood doth keep,
    • Till practised eyes do mark me and declare,
    • ‘He loves, yet knows not if his fate be fair.’
    • Where hill or lofty pine doth cast its shade
    • I halt, and on the nearest rock I see
    • Limned by my fancy, her fair countenance!
    • When I revive, behold! my breast is made
    • All soft with tears; I cry: ‘Ah, wretched me,
    • Where art thou? Why awaken from thy trance?’
    • For while that tender glance
    • Doth hold my heart in sweet imprisonment,
    • Forgetful of itself, gazing on her,
    • I do feel love so near
    • That with the dream alone I am content;
    • So fair doth she appear on every side,
    • I ask no more if these sweet visions bide.
    • Full oft her living image have I seen
    • In the clear waters or upon the grass
    • Or in the trunk of some widespreading tree
    • Or on a floating cloud. Her face hath been
    • So fair that Helen’s it did far surpass,
    • As the bright sun constrains the stars to flee.
    • Though wild the spot may be,
    • On lonely shore—in forest sere and brown—
    • All the more fair my thoughts her form portray.
    • And when truth drives away
    • The sweet delusion, then I sit me down,
    • Dead stone on living rock, cold with my fears,
    • And think, and weep, and write my song in tears.
    • Within my heart a keen desire doth rise
    • To scale the steepest, loftiest peak of all
    • Where shade of other mountain cannot go.
    • There I begin to measure with mine eyes
    • How great my loss, and into weeping fall,
    • My heart all filled with a thick mist of woe,
    • Whene’er I look and know
    • What spaces part me from that radiant face
    • That still is near, even when far away!
    • Low to myself I say,
    • ‘Poor soul, why weep? Perchance in that far place
    • Thine absence grieves her and she sighs for thee.’
    • And with that thought my soul again is free.
    • O song, beyond those Alps,
    • Where heaven is more serene and skies more gay,
    • Thou’lt see me soon near a swift-running stream
    • Where the soft air doth teem
    • With odours from a laurel grove astray.
    • My heart and she who took it both are there,
    • Only my empty image bideth here.
    • cxxix

1345. Cochin, p. 92.

But his most vivid pictures of Laura are at Vaucluse in the narrow valley between steep mountains where the Sorgue rushes forth from a cavern and flows swiftly down the valley. This stream was then bordered with groves of oak and beech and laurel, and its banks were carpeted with sod on which wild flowers grew luxuriantly. It would seem that Petrarch and Laura had met in this valley on one or more occasions, and the memory of her presence there gave rise to the most exquisite poetry in the whole Canzoniere. His thirteenth ode, Se ’l pensier che mi strugge, preliminary to the one which is deservedly reckoned his masterpiece, thus sets forth in its sixth stanza the reasons why each spot is so precious to him: