Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 3/Sonnet from Petrarch (The birds' sad song, the young leaves' rustling play)
SONNET FROM PETRARCH.
“Se lamentar angelli o verdi fronde.”
The birds’ sad song, the young leaves’ rustling play,
In the soft summer air, the hoarser sounds
Of lucid waters as they rush away
Between their verdant flower-enameled bounds,
Where, lost in Love’s sweet phantasies, I lie;
All these—the murmur of bird, leaf, and stream,
Are filled with her. To my fond ear and eye
Her voice, her living form, still present seem;
And to my passionate sorrow she replies
In pitying accents from the far-off shore—
“Why dost thou shed such tears from those sad eyes?
Untimely wasting! Weep for me no more.
I died to live; and when life seemed to close,
The dawn of God’s eternal day arose.”
W.