WHEREIN LOVE FORETELLS THE POET OF HIS RETURN TO LAURA AND POETRY

Write — so Love told my heart and often said —
Write what thou seest large in letters of gold,
That white as ashes is the flock I fold,
And in a moment made alive and dead.
Time was thy spirit felt my power spread
A public proof to lovers young and old;
When other passions found in thee a hold,
I soon caught up with thee, though thou hadst fled.
And if the eyes where first I stood revealed,
Those brilliant eyes where my sweet flag unfurled,

CONCERNING THE LAMENTABLE DEATH OF CINO DA PISTOIA

Weep, women, and with you weep Love as well!
Weep, lovers everywhere, a various throng!
Since he is dead, who while he lived had sung
So valiantly of Love! O ring his knell!
For me, my dear entreaties must compel
This cruel dolour not to check my tongue
Of its melodious tears nor make less long
The heart's moan that shall lighten the heart's hell.
Rhymes, weep, and verses, do you also weep!
Since Messer Cino, of love's fragrant line
The lord, is even now fast locked in sleep!

WHEREIN HE CONDOLES WITH HIS BROTHER GHERARDO ON THE UNTIMELY DEATH OF A LADY HE LOVED

The lovely lady thou didst love so greatly
Hath from our midst too soon, too soon departed
To take her place among the splendid-hearted
Whose virtue shed such light upon us lately.
No human bliss or bane her station stately
Can touch or taint: come, stand again, new-started,
New-consecrated in God's path, new-charted
In the bright flight that speeds to Heaven so straightly!
Thus, from the heavier burden liberated,

WHEREIN HE EXALTS HER BEAUTY AND AVERS THE PERMANENCE OF HIS PASSION

Golden upon the wind her loose hair streaming,
Twisted into a thousand curls was shaken;
And from her eyes, which seldom now awaken
To answer mine, a fiery light was gleaming;
Ah! — was it fancy? — but with wistful seeming,
Her lovely face by pity's tint was taken:
What marvel that my heart, so long Love's beacon,
Should flame out, fueled so by Love's fierce dreaming?
She was no mortal in her stately moving,
But stepped an angel; and her accents glowing

WHEREIN HE INFORMS CERTAIN LADIES OF THE ADVANTAGES OF LOVE'S DURESS

Fleeing the prison where these many years
Love held me in a sort of heavenly hell, —
Ladies, the story were too long to tell,
How my new freedom crushed me with new fears:
My heart felt anguish fiercer than Love's tears;
Loveless, it could not live a day: then fell
Again on me that Traitor, masked so well
He had deceived a wiser than his peers.
Wherefore, with frequent sighs turning my soul
Back, I have cried, " Ah, Christ! the yoke and chains

WHEREIN HE EXHORTS LOVERS TO FLY FROM LOVE BETIMES

Since my hope takes too long upon the way
And life has all too short a time to stay,
I wish with all my heart I had perceived
Sooner, and fled as soon and swift away —
And fly I do, though I feel sore aggrieved
In my left side where Love his worst achieved;
But safe at last, though on my face his sway
Is plainly written — not to be retrieved.
Wherefore I warn you that yet walk his road,
Turn your blind steps aside; and ye inflamed
With Love, do not await his extreme goad:

ON AN ANNIVERSARY, SEEING LAURA AT THE HOUR AND PLACE OF THEIR FIRST MEETING

Ever I loved, and love as much as ever,
And day by day shall only love the more
That lovely place where often I implore
Peace from Love's fierce and unremitting fever;
My mind is set to love the swords that sever
Vile passions from it, and the hour it tore
Away, and her whose face makes the heart soar,
Whose pure example points to high endeavour.
Who ever thought to see them all combine,
Now on this side, now that, my heart to storm —

WHEREIN, THOUGH NOT INVULNERABLE, HE REFUSES TO FEEL FURTHER TORMENT OF LOVE

Till winter's silver frost my temples harrow,
Where shade by shade Time mixes gray with grayer,
Danger will dog me still, ah grim gainsayer,
So long as Love keeps finger upon arrow.
Let Love his tortures practice on a sparrow!
I do not dread that treacherous trick-player:
My heart will not fly open for the slayer
To plant his blood-red barbs deep in its marrow!
Mine eyes are stones through which tears cannot blunder,
Though well they know the way in, ah so well,

TO A FRIEND, WHEREIN, THOUGH WORN TO A SHADOW, THE POET PROTESTS LOVE'S SERVITUDE IS SWEET

Love, with his promises and flattery,
Seduced me back to the old prison cell,
And gave the keys to that dear sentinel
Who still divides my proper self from me.
Alas! I dreamed not of his subtlety
Until in Love's and Laura's hands I fell,
(Who will believe it, though I swear it well?)
Now heavy are the sighs that set me free.
And like a veritable captive smitten,
Of my harsh chains the greater part I carry,

WHEREIN HE CANNOT EVER WEARY HYMNING HER EYES

The brilliant eyes which struck me in such wise
That they alone can heal the wound they made,
Not virtuous herbs nor artful magic's aid,
Nor fabulous Mediterranean stone's device,
So blind to other Love by these same eyes,
One sweet thought only can my soul persuade,
From following which, if my tongue has not strayed,
Despise the thought, the tongue do not despise.
These are the lovely eyes which Love the Lord
On his invincible shield in every part
Bears valiantly, but most in my own heart;