Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, WITH DREAMS OF WEALTH AND FAME, by GIUSEPPE PARINI


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

WITH DREAMS OF WEALTH AND FAME, by                     Poet's Biography
Last Line: After the day of death
Subject(s): Wealth; Fame


With dreams of wealth and fame
Why in my soul breed strife,
Since Atropos even now
Severs my thread of life?
Since now the pilot dread
For me bends to his oar
There, where it has been said
We may return no more?

The hours that still remain,
So blithe, so fain to flee,
Sweetly and gaily pass
In rural liberty ;
From Ceres corn we see,
And Bacchus wine doth bear,
And lovely Chastity
Winds blossoms in her hair.

I know deemed fortunate
Is he who owns a chest
Wherein, through Plutus do
Uncounted treasures rest;
But with a heart of grief
Full oftentimes appear
The great ones, bowed beneath
The frozen hand of fear.

I will not knock on harsh,
Illustrious doors; I'll tread
Naked indeed, but free,
The kingdom of the dead!
For wealth or potency,
With false and coward deed.
This venal century
Will never see me plead!

O placid hill serene.
My sweet Eupili
With gently rising slopes
Embracing tenderly;
Beauty entranceth me
By nature squandered here,
Though I an exile be.
Contented I draw near.

That peace scarce known to men,
Upon your shadowy breast
I find, come back again
To your beloved rest;
Sorrow and care I see
In flight precipitate,
The pride of tyranny
Eager to agitate.

How they must be inspired
To envy me, flower crowned,
In this rusticity
Unto no slavery bound;
As Phoebus used to wile.
Shepherd in Thessaly,
So too will I, and smile
To my harp's melody.

Hymns from my suppliant breast
I'll lift up to the skies,
So that afar from us
The cruel whirlwinds rise,
So that we do not see
The bitter wrath of war,
And our fields trampled be
By foeman's steed no more.

Thee, toiler diligent,
Who wilt direct the vine
In furrows new, and then
It with lithe willows twine,
Who to thy sterile part
Of country wilt bestow
Fecundity with art
Thy fathers did not know;

Thee, blissful, in my hymns
I'll show posterity,
And down the centuries
'Twill still be told of thee;
And under the wan grass,
In sorrow to revere
Thy quiet bones, will pass
Thy children's children here.

To me may it be given
To end, O meadows blest,
These happy days of mine
In your transcendent rest;
He hath, indeed, true fame
If a regretful breath
Still call upon his name
After the day of death.






Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


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