FRANCESCO PETRARCH

(1304–1374)

If constancy in love, if a brave heart,

the honeys of longing and courteous

desire, if passion built a gentle fire

somewhere in its winding labyrinth;

if my every thought was etched upon

my face, understood in broken words

or shattered by fear and shame, or if a

pallor, like a violet’s, stained by love . . .

if love is to be altruistic,

if repeated sighs and weeping tears

feed equally on sorrow and rage;

if to burn at a distance or freeze

nearby, if love should dismantle me,

the blame is yours, Love, the loss with me.

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Love delivers to me its sweetest thoughts

like a long forgotten confidant

telling me I was never so close

to what I have longed for as I am now.

I, who have believed and disbelieved,

can do no more than question now:

I live somewhere between the two,

my heart alternating yes and no.

And all the while, time quickly passes,

and my face in the mirror enters

a hopeless, contrary season.

Whatever comes, I do not age alone.

Desire remains unchanged.

What’s left of my life grows brief.

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