Explore "Amor Che Meco Al Buon Tempo Ti Stavi" by Francesco Petrarca on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
HE VENTS HIS SORROW TO ALL WHO WITNESSED HIS FORMER FELICITY.
Love, that in happier days wouldst meet me here / Along these meads that nursed our kindred strains; / And that old debt to clear which still remains, / Sweet converse with the stream and me wouldst share: / Ye flowers, leaves, grass, woods, grots, rills, gentle air, / Low valleys, lofty hills, and sunny plains: / The harbour where I stored my love-sick pains, / And all my various chance, my racking care: / Ye playful inmates of the greenwood shade; / Ye nymphs, and ye that in the waves pursue / That life its cool and grassy bottom lends: -- / My days were once so fair; now dark and dread / As death that makes them so. Thus the world through / On each as soon as born his fate attends.