Filled with consuming thought that divides me
from other men, and sends me through life alone,
from hour to hour, out of myself I'm flown,
searching to find her, from whom I should flee.
And seeing her pass by, so sweet and deadly,
my spirit quivers to take wing, fly on,
so many armed sighs, with her, are gone,
whom Love and I know - our beautiful enemy.
Surely, if I am not wrong, from that brow
high and clouded, a ray of pity shines,
that, to some degree, brightens my sad heart.
Then, rousing my mind, I consider how
to tell her of this unwise choice of mine,
yet, having so much to say, I dare not start.
Francesco Petrarca (1304-1374)
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