PETRARCH
Across the centuries and in every land
His name is honoured still. In that long night
When learning's flame was quenched, it was his hand
That lit the torch and brought the welcome light.
So says the world, and yet we treasure more
These songs that tell of frailties like our own—
The fruitless love which many a year he bore
That grew the brighter when its hope was gone.
The lays wherein his passion was enshrined
Outlast the ages. While from day to day
I read his lines, old age is left behind
And youth returns; these scattered locks of gray
Turn brown once more, and solemn wisdom dies
Under the witchery of my lady's eyes.
