Explore "Fresco Ambroso Fiorito E Verde Colle" by Francesco Petrarca on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
HE CONGRATULATES HIS HEART ON ITS REMAINING WITH HER.
O hill with green o'erspread, with groves o'erhung! / Where musing now, now trilling her sweet lay, / Most like what bards of heavenly spirits say, / Sits she by fame through every region sung: / My heart, which wisely unto her has clung -- / More wise, if there, in absence blest, it stay! / Notes now the turf o'er which her soft steps stray, / Now where her angel-eyes' mild beam is flung; / Then throbs and murmurs, as they onward rove, / "Ah! were he here, that man of wretched lot, / Doom'd but to taste the bitterness of love! " / She, conscious, smiles: our feelings tally not: / Heartless am I, mere stone; heaven is thy grove -- / O dear delightful shade, O consecrated spot!