September 28, 2022

Sonnet 131 [I'd sing of Love in such a novel fashion], Francesco Petrarca

I'd sing of Love in such a novel fashion

that from her cruel side I would draw by force

a thousand sighs a day, kindling again

in her cold mind a thousand high desires;


I'd see her lovely face transform quite often

her eyes grow wet and more compassionate,

like one who feels regret, when it's too late,

for causing someone's suffering by mistake;


And I'd see scarlet roses in the snows,

tossed by the breeze, discover ivory

that turns to marble those who see it near them;


All this I'd do because I do not mind

my discontentment in this one short life,

but glory rather in my later fame.

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