Petrarch - Quante fiate al mio dolce ricetto lyrics

HER FORM STILL HAUNTS HIM IN SOLITUDE How oft, all lonely, to my sweet retreat From man and from myself I strive to fly, Bathing with dewy eyes each much-loved seat, And swelling every blossom with a sigh! How oft, deep musing on my woes complete, Along the dark and silent glens I lie, In thought again that dearest form to meet By d**h possess'd, and therefore wish to die! How oft I see her rising from the tide Of Sorga, like some goddess of the flood; Or pensive wander by the river's side; Or tread the flowery mazes of the wood; Bright as in life; while angel pity throws O'er her fair face the impress of my woes. Merivale.