Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, FROM THOUGHT TO THOUGHT, FROM HILL TO HILL, by PETRARCH


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

FROM THOUGHT TO THOUGHT, FROM HILL TO HILL, by                     Poet's Biography
Last Line: Tis my spirit dwells in thee
Alternate Author Name(s): Petrarca, Francesco
Subject(s): Love - Loss Of


From thought to thought, from hill to hill,
Love for ever is my guide;
The trodden pathway leadeth still
From haunts of quietude aside;
On solitary shore and by
A fountain or a running stream,
In valleys where the hill-shades lie,
My sorely troubled soul may dream,
As Love dictates, may laugh or weep,
May fear or count itself secure,
Compose the face for strife or sleep
And never in one mood endure;
Till he would say, who knows such state:
"He loves, uncertain of his fate."
On lofty peaks, in forest drear,
I take my rest but needs must flee
The haunts of men, for these I fear,
And have in mortal enmity.
At every step a whim is born
That doth regard my Lady fair.
Full often I in jest have worn
The torments which for her I bear;
And yet I would not change my ways
That are so bitter and so sweet,
"Since Love may cherish happier days
For thy delight," I oft repeat,
"Though thou dost scorn thyself, maybe
Another hath thee dear!" I sigh
And wonder whether verily
This may befall, and how and why.
I tarry where I shelter find
Of mountain-top or tall pine-tree,
And paint her image with my mind
On the first pebble that I see;
Then, when my straying wits come back,
I beat my tear-drenched breast and say:
"Unhappy heart, what dost thou lack,
And whither would'st thou wend thy way?"
But though in self-forgetfulness
This primal thought my wandering mind
Alone doth serve with faithfulness,
Yet Love my soul hath so entwined
That I am happy in my woe;
Her myriad charms enthrall my eyes;
If it should be for ever so
I would not have it otherwise.
My Lady's features I have seen,
So let him credence give who may,
In waters clear and meadows green
No less than in a beechen spray,
Within a cloud so snowy white,
Beside her Leda's child would seem
A star that paleth in the light,
The sun hath kindled with his beam.
Where desolate my dwelling-place,
Upon a bleak, forsaken coast,
There doth my spirit sweetly trace
Her beauty and exalt it most;
Then, numb with grief, when fancy flies
Away before the face of truth,
As dead stone from a stone I rise
And think and write and weep for ruth.
To heights whereon no shadows fall,
To mighty and enduring chains,
My passionate desire doth call,
And I begin to count my pains:
My tears the doleful mists dispel
From my full heart, and musingly
I mark the place where she doth dwell
Who is so near though far from me.
"O weary heart, why dost thou stray?"
So falters hope with gentleness,
"Maybe when thou art far away
One sigheth for thee in distress!"
This thought such happiness doth bring,
My soul is freed from suffering.
Song of mine, beyond the hill,
Where the skies are soft and blue,
Resting by a flowering rill,
Thou shalt look on me anew;
Where fresh laurels scent the air,
With the heart she stole from me,
Tarrieth my Lady fair;
'Tis my spirit dwells in thee.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net