|
|
|
Those pious lines wherein are finely met Proofs of high genius and a spirit kind. Had so much influence on my grateful mind That instantly in hand my pen I set To tell you that death's final blow-which yet Shall me and every mortal surely find- I have not felt, though I too nearly join'd The confines of his realm without regret; But I turn'd back again because I read Writ o'er the threshold that the time to me Of life predestinate was not all fled, Though its last day and hour I could not see. Then once more let your sad heart comfort know, And love the living worth which dead it honoured so. Francesco Petrarca: Translated by MacGregor |
