Explore "Deh Qual Pieta, Qual Angel Fu Si Presto" by Francesco Petrarca on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
HIS PRAYER IS HEARD.
What angel of compassion, hovering near, / Heard, and to heaven my heart grief instant bore, / Whence now I feel descending as of yore / My lady, in that bearing chaste and dear, / My lone and melancholy heart to cheer, / So free from pride, of humbleness such store, / In fine, so perfect, though at death's own door, / I live, and life no more is dull and drear.
Blessed is she who so can others bless / With her fair sight, or with that tender speech / To whose full meaning love alone can reach. / "Dear friend," she says, "thy pangs my soul distress; / But for our good I did thy homage shun" -- / In sweetest tones which might arrest the sun.
MACGREGOR.