The Poetry of Petrarch

by David Young

Oh, world of misery, unstable and severe,

  whoever trusts you must be wholly blind;

  in you my heart was lost; the one who holds it

  has turned from flesh and blood to empty dust.

  And yet her better form is still alive

  and will live, always, in the highest Heaven;

  it makes me love her beauty more and more,

  and as I go around with graying hair

  all I can think about is what she’s like

  and what it meant to see her lovely veil.

  320

  I feel the ancient aura, and I see

  the gracious hills wherein the light was born

  that kept my eyes alive with joy and passion

  while it pleased Heaven, eyes now sad and wet.

  Oh, transitory hopes, oh, crazy thoughts!

  The grass is grieving and the waters troubled,

  the nest is cold and empty where she lay,

  where I have wished to lie, alive or dead,

  hoping to take some comfort from her steps

  across my grave, and from the glance that burned

  my heart, some rest from all my drudgery.

  I served a master who was cruel and stingy,

  was warmed as long as I could feel my fire,

  and now I weep among its scattered ashes.

  321

  And is this it, the nest in which my phoenix

  put on her golden and her purple feathers,

  and where she kept my heart beneath her wings

  and still draws forth from it both words and sighs?

  Oh, root and origin of my sweet harms,

  where is the lovely face that gave off light

  and kept me glad, though burning in the fire?

  Unique on earth, and happy now in Heaven,

  you have abandoned me in lonely pain

  that brings me back here, loaded down with grief,

  a place I bless and honor for your sake,

  to watch the night come on among the hills

  from which you took your final flight to Heaven

  and where your eyes once used to make it day.

  322

  I’m never going to look with tranquil mind

  or with dry eyes at those ingenious verses

  in which Love sparkles brightly, and which Kindness

  seems to have fashioned with a skillful hand.

  Oh, spirit earthly mourning could not vanquish,

  and who pours down from Heaven now such sweetness

  that you’ve restored my vagrant rhymes and lines

  to something like their style before Death struck:

  I thought to show you something else I’d done

  when I was young and gained the laurel leaves;

  what spiteful planet struck you, my high treasure?

  Who hides you, takes you from me much too early,

  you whom I praise with tongue and hold at heart?

  In you, sweet sigh, my soul is calm again.

  323

  One day as I stood gazing from my window

  I saw outside it such disturbing sights

  that I was getting tired just from watching;

  I saw a wild creature to my right

  whose human face would stir great Jove to love,

  pursued by hounds, a black one and a white one,

  who tore this noble creature

  on one side and the other so intensely

  that in no time at all they drove it forward,

  trapped in a stony pass,

  where all that beauty then succumbed to death

  and made me sigh with sorrow for its fate.

  Then on the ocean’s deeps I saw a ship

  with silken tackle and great sails of gold,

  fashioned from ebony and finest ivory;

  the sea was calm, the breeze was blowing gently,

  and there was not a cloud to veil the sky.

  The ship was clearly full of precious cargo.

  And then a sudden tempest

  approaching from the east struck air and water

  and drove the ship against a ragged rock.

  Oh, what a heavy grief!

  Crushed in a moment! Now a small space hides

  those riches that were surely unsurpassed!

  Within a youthful grove of trees there flowered

  a sacred laurel, young and straight and slender;

  it could have been a tree that grew in Eden;

  and from its shade there issued such sweet sounds

  of diverse birds and other such delights

  that it had rapt me from the mundane world.

  Yet as I gazed upon it

  the sky around was changed, the air grew black

  and lightning struck the tree; the hidden roots

  of that most happy plant

  were torn, exposed; whereby my life grew sad,

  because such shade can never be regained.

  Within that very wood a limpid fountain

  came bubbling from a stone, and its fresh waters

  ran forth and spread with a delightful murmur.

  To that secluded spot, shaded and cool,

  no shepherds came, or other country folk,

  but only nymphs and muses joined that music.

  There I was seated, quite

  transported by that harmony, and soothed

  by taking in that sight: a chasm opened

  and took it all away,

  the fountain and the place, to leave me grieving

  so that the memory fills me still with fear.

  I saw a wondrous phoenix in the forest,

  both wings were crimson and the head was gold,

  and in the wood it lived, alone and proud;

  I took it first to be a thing immortal

  until it came to the uprooted laurel

  and to the fountain that the earth had swallowed.

  All things fly toward their end:

  for when it saw the scattered laurel leaves,

  the broken trunk, the living water dry,

  it turned its beak against

  itself, as if in scorn, and vanished then,

  burning my heart with pity and with love.

  And last, I saw a lady, walking pensive

  among the grass and flowers, fair and happy;

  it makes me burn and tremble to recall her;

  humble herself, but haughty against Love,

  she wore a gown of white so subtly woven

  that it resembled snow and gold at once,

  and yet her head and neck

  were shrouded in a mist of darkened shadow.

  Stung on the heel then, by a little adder,

  she withered like a flower,

  but she died confident and clearly happy:

  ah, nothing but our tears live on this earth!

  Song, you’ve a right to say:

  “These visions, six of them, have given

  a sweet desire for death to him, my maker.”

  324

  Ah, Love, when hope for recompense

  for all my faithfulness was blossoming,

  the one who could show mercy was removed.

  Oh, Death, who feels no pity! Oh, cruel Life!

  One leaves me drowned in grief

  and kills my hopes before they can mature;

  the other keeps me here against my will,

  and I can’t follow one I love

  to where she’s gone, for Death will not allow me.

  But she is always present,

  my madonna, enthroned here in my heart,

  and what my life’s become, she can inspect.

  325

  I can’t be silent, yet I fear my tongue

  will not reflect what’s really in my heart,

  which simply wants to honor

  the lady who is listening from Heaven.

  How can I, if you do not teach me, Love,

  find mortal words to match divinity

  and works whi
ch are concealed

  by high humility, so self-contained?

  Her noble soul had not been dwelling long

  in that fair prison which it’s now gone free from

  when I at first became aware of her

  and then ran speedily

  (for it was April, both the year’s and mine)

  to gather flowers from surrounding meadows,

  hoping, thus garlanded, to please her eyes.

  The walls were alabaster, roof of gold;

  an ivory entrance, under sapphire windows,

  was where the first sigh issued

  to reach my heart, the way the last one will;

  and then the messengers of Love came forth

  armed with their darts and with their fire

  and crowned, alas, with laurel;

  just thinking of them now can make me shiver.

  Inside there could be seen a lofty throne

  fashioned from diamond, square and clearly flawless,

  where sat a lovely lady all alone;

  before her was a column

  crystal and so transparent that all thoughts

  inscribed within it grew so evident

  that often, in my sighing, I was happy.

  I saw that I had come to those bright weapons

  that shine and pierce and burn, to that green flag

  that would defeat Apollo, Jove,

  great Mars, and Polyphemus in a battle,

  where weeping is forever fresh and green,

  I saw all this and could not get away;

  I let myself be captured

  and now I can’t escape by any means.

  But as a man who’s weeping and departs,

  will sometimes see things that delight his heart,

  it happened that the one for whom I’m prisoner

  stood on a balcony,

  and was the one thing perfect in her time,

  and I began to gaze with such desire

  that I forgot myself and all my pain.

  I was on earth, my heart in Paradise,

  sweetly forgetting every other care;

  I felt my living form

  grow still as marble, filling up with wonder,

  and then a lady confident and swift,

  ancient in years though youthful in her face,

  seeing me so intent

  by the expression of my face and brow:

  “Come and consult with me” was what she said,

  “for I have far more power than you think

  and in one moment I can gladden, sadden;

  I’m lighter than the wind;

  I rule and spin all things you see on earth.

  Keep looking, like an eagle, at the sun

  and all the while listen to my words.

  “The day that she was born, the stars that make

  the happiest effects among you were

  in high and noble places,

  turned toward each other with a mutual love.

  And Venus and her father, quite benignly,

  were dominant in Heaven, while those stars

  that might do evil here

  were off in other places, all dispersed.

  “The sun had never shone on such a day

  with air and earth all joyful, and the waters

  that fill the seas and rivers were at peace.

  Among such friendly lights

  one distant cloud appeared, unsettling me,

  for I’m afraid that it will burn and weep

  if Pity doesn’t change the heavens’ course.

  “When she came down to this low world and life

  (which, speaking frankly, isn’t worthy of her),

  a wondrous thing to see,

  already sweet and holy, though unripe,

  she was a pearl set in finest gold.

  She crawled at first, then took her early steps,

  and she made trees, and stones,

  and earth, and water, soft and green and sweet,

  “and with her hands and feet she made the grass

  grow fresh and proud; her glance made flowers bloom,

  and winds grew calm and storms were quieted

  just by her voice, although

  her tongue was hardly weaned from mother’s milk:

  and thus the world, though deaf and blind, could tell

  how much the light of Heaven shone in her.

  “Then as she grew, in years as well as virtue,

  she reached her third stage, age of blossoming,

  and so much charm and beauty

  the sun had never seen, I well believe:

  her eyes so full of happiness and virtue,

  her speech so full of sweetness and of health.

  All tongues are dumb to tell

  the things about her only you have learned:

  “her face shines bright with such celestial light

  that your eyes cannot look directly at it,

  and for the beauty of her earthly prison

  your heart is filled with fire

  so much that nothing ever burned more sweetly;

  and yet I think that her abrupt departure

  is going to make your life taste very bitter.”

  That said, she turned back to her fickle wheel,

  the one that whirls around and spins our thread,

  this sad and certain prophet of my losses;

  after not many years

  my song, the one whose loss has made me long

  for death, was taken early by cruel Death,

  who could not find a body half so lovely.

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  Now you have done the worst you can accomplish,

  oh, cruel Death, you have impoverished

  the very realm of Love, quenched beauty’s light,

  destroyed its flower, encased it in a grave;

  and now you have despoiled our life and ripped

  its ornaments away, its sovereign honor;

  but fame and courage, these things are immortal,

  and not within your power: keep naked bones,

  for Heaven has the rest and in its brightness

  glories and basks as in a brighter sun;

  good people will remember her forever.

  In such a victory, oh, novice angel,

  may pity for me overtake your heart

  the way your beauty vanquished mine on earth.

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  The aura and the fragrance and the coolness,

  the laurel’s shade, the sight of it in bloom,

  the light and solace of my weary life:

  she took them all, who empties out the world.

  The way the sun wanes when his sister moon

  eclipses him, that’s how my light is gone;

  I ask for Death as remedy for Death,

  because Love fills me with the darkest thoughts.

  You’ve slept, my lovely lady, one short sleep,

  and now you’ve wakened among blessèd spirits,

  there where the soul becomes one with its Maker;

  and if my rhymes have any force at all,

  your name will live with noble intellects

  and in eternal memory be sacred.

  328

  The last, alas, of all my happy days

  (of which I’ve seen but few in this short life)

  had come and turned my heart to melting snow,

  perhaps to forecast these days, dark and sad.

  Like someone who can tell a fever’s coming

  because his muscles, pulse, and thoughts grow weak

  is how I felt, although I could not know

  how swiftly my imperfect wealth would end.

  Her lovely eyes, now bright with joy in Heaven,

  and happy in the light that rains salvation,

  took leave of mine, left wretched here, and poor,

  and spoke to them by means of chaste, strange glow:

  “Peace be with you, dear friends. Not here, no, never;

  but we will see each o
ther elsewhere, soon.”

  329

  Oh day, oh hour, oh, the final moment,

  oh stars configured to impoverish me!

  Oh faithful glance, what were you trying to say

  as, never to be happy, I departed?

  I know my losses now; I have awakened,

  for I believed (oh vain and groundless faith!)

  that I was losing part, not all, in leaving:

  how many hopes are scattered by the wind!

  For something contrary was set in Heaven—

  to douse the brilliant light by which I lived—

  and that was figured in her sharp, sweet sight;

  but I had put a veil before my eyes

  that helped me fail to see what I was seeing,

  and in an instant made my life a ruin.

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  That yearning, sweet, dear, virtuous gaze of hers

  seemed to be saying: “Take what you can from me,

  for you will never see me here again

  once your unwilling foot has moved away.”

  Oh, intellect, so panther-swift, but slow

  to recognize approaching sorrow, why

  could you not see, in her eyes, what would come:

  knowledge that burns me and destroys my hope?

  Silent, but sparkling, brighter far than usual,

  they said to yours: “Oh, friendly lights, that made

  sweet mirrors of us for a long time now,

  Heaven expects us; it seems soon to you,

  but He who bound us now dissolves our knot

  while yours will last, to your continued grief.”

  331

  I used to leave the fountain of my life,

  go far away, and search through lands and seas,

  guided not by my will but by my star,

  and always went (for Love gave me such help)

  into that exile, bitter beyond belief,

  feeding my heart on memory and hope.

  And now, alas, I throw down arms, surrender

  to my cruel fate, the violent destiny

  that has deprived me of so sweet a hope;

  now all I have is memory,

  the only thing that feeds my great desire,

  and so my soul is withering and starving.

  The way a runner, needing food, will tire

  and go more slowly, losing all the strength

  that made him swift along his given course:

  so, as my life lacks that dear nourishment

  that was devoured by the one who leaves

  the whole world naked and my own heart sad,

  sweetness grows bitter to me, pleasure pain,

  from day to day; and thus this journey will,

  however brief, I hope and fear, soon end.

  A cloud, or dust in wind,

  I flee from this, the pilgrimage of life,

  and may that flight become my destiny.

  I never cared much for this mortal life

  (the love god knows this, and I’ve told him, often)