Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 3/Sonnet from Petrarch (The birds' sad song, the young leaves' rustling play)

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search

Translation of Sonnet 238 by Petrarch, written about 1351.


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.”