Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PETRARCH'S DREAM, by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Rosy as a waking bride Last Line: Kindled from the tomb. Alternate Author Name(s): L. E. L.; Maclean, Letitia Subject(s): Petrarch (1304-1374); Francesco Petrarca | ||||||||
ROSY as a waking bride By her royal lover's side, Flows the Sorgia's haunted tide Through the laurel grove, -- Through the grove which Petrarch gave, All that can escape the grave -- Fame, and song, and love. He had left a feverish bed For the wild flowers at his head, And the dews the green leaves shed O'er his charmed sleep: From his hand had dropp'd the scroll To which Virgil left his soul Through long years to keep. Passion on that cheek had wrought, Its own paleness had it brought; Passion marks the lines of thought: We must feel to think. Care and toil had flung their shade Over that bright head, now laid By the river's brink. Youth that, like a fever, burns; Struggle, scorning what it earns; Knowledge, loathing as it learns; Worn and wasted heart! And a song whose secrets are In its innermost despair; -- Such the poet's part! But what rises to efface Time's dark shadows from that face? Doth the heart its image trace In the morning dream? Yes; it is its light that shines Far amid the dusky pines, By the Sorgia's stream. Flowers up-springing, bright and sweet, At the pressure of their feet, As the summer came to greet Each white waving hand. Round them kindles the dark air; Golden with their golden hair, Glide a lovely band. Spirits, starry Spirits, they, That attend the radiant day, When the freed soul burst the clay Of its prison wall: Distant visions they appear; For we only dream of, here, Things etherial. But one glideth gently nigh, Human love within her eye, -- Love that is too true to die, -- That is heaven's own. Let the angel's first look dwell Where the mortal loved so well, Ere yet life was flown. To that angel-look was given All that ever yet from heaven Purified the earthly leaven Of a beating heart. She hath breathed of hope and love, As they warm the world above; -- She must now depart. Aye, I say that love hath power On the spirit's dying hour, Sharing its immortal dower, Mastering its doom: For that fair and mystic dream By the Sorgia's hallowed stream, Kindled from the tomb. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A VISION UPON [THIS CONCEIT] OF THE FAERIE QUEENE (1) by WALTER RALEIGH A SESTINA, IN IMITAION OF SIG. FRA. PETRARCA by PHILIP AYRES SONNETS OF LAURA: 1. REPROACH by ELIZABETH COBBOLD SONNETS OF LAURA: 2. THE VEIL by ELIZABETH COBBOLD SONNETS OF LAURA: 3. ABSENCE by ELIZABETH COBBOLD ON VISITING PETRARCH'S HOUSE by ROWLAND EYLES EGERTON-WARBURTON CALYPSO WATCHING THE OCEAN by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON |
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