Sonnet 164
By Petrarch
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Now at the hush of wind and earth and sky,
Sleep bridles beasts and holds the birds aground,
Night drives her star-lined chariot on its round,
And, waveless, seas lie bedded, only I
Still see and think and burn and rave and fret.
My bringer of sweet pain undoes me more.
In rage and tears, mine is a state of war
And thoughts of Her are all the peace I get.
Thus drink I sweet and bitter draughts that flow
Forth from a single, living fountain's spray.
One single hand both heals and deals each blow.
To keep my ship of martyrdom at sea
Have I a thousand births and deaths a day.
So far is my salvation's port from me.
The Original:
Sonetto CLXIV
Francesco Petrarca
Or che �l cielo e la terra e �l vento tace,
e le fere e gli augelli il sonno affrena,
notte il carro stellato in giro mena,
e nel suo letto il mar senz� onda giace;
vegghio, penso, ardo, piango, e chi mi sface
sempre m�� innanzi per mia dolce pena;
guerra � �l mio stato, d�ira e di duol piena,
e sol di lei pensando ho qualche pace.
Cos� sol d�una chiara fonte viva
move �l dolce e l�amaro ond� io mi pasco;
una man sola mi risana e punge.
E perch� �l mio mart�r non giunga a riva,
mille volte il d� moro mille nasco;
tanto da la salute mia son lunge.
By Petrarch
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Now at the hush of wind and earth and sky,
Sleep bridles beasts and holds the birds aground,
Night drives her star-lined chariot on its round,
And, waveless, seas lie bedded, only I
Still see and think and burn and rave and fret.
My bringer of sweet pain undoes me more.
In rage and tears, mine is a state of war
And thoughts of Her are all the peace I get.
Thus drink I sweet and bitter draughts that flow
Forth from a single, living fountain's spray.
One single hand both heals and deals each blow.
To keep my ship of martyrdom at sea
Have I a thousand births and deaths a day.
So far is my salvation's port from me.
The Original:
Sonetto CLXIV
Francesco Petrarca
Or che �l cielo e la terra e �l vento tace,
e le fere e gli augelli il sonno affrena,
notte il carro stellato in giro mena,
e nel suo letto il mar senz� onda giace;
vegghio, penso, ardo, piango, e chi mi sface
sempre m�� innanzi per mia dolce pena;
guerra � �l mio stato, d�ira e di duol piena,
e sol di lei pensando ho qualche pace.
Cos� sol d�una chiara fonte viva
move �l dolce e l�amaro ond� io mi pasco;
una man sola mi risana e punge.
E perch� �l mio mart�r non giunga a riva,
mille volte il d� moro mille nasco;
tanto da la salute mia son lunge.
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