SONNET FROM PETRARCH, ON THE DEATH OF LAURA.
Reading edition
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TRANSLATED BY ALICE GREY.
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Where is the brow that, with the slightest sigh,
Moved my fond heart, its most devoted slave?
Where the fair eye-lid, and those stars divine,
Which to my life its only lustre gave?
Where is the worth, the wise, accomplished mind;
The prudent, modest, humble, sweet discourse?
Where are the beauties which, in her combined,
So long of all my actions were the source?
The shadow of that gentle countenance
To which the weary soul for rest might flee?
And where my thoughts were written; where is she
Who held my willing life within her hands?
Alas! for the sad world! alas! for my
Still weeping eyes, that never shall be dry.