Francesco Petrarca (1304–1374)

Translated by Thomas Wentworth Higginson
Levommi il mio pensiero

DREAMS bore my fancy to that region where

She dwells whom here I seek, but cannot see.

’Mid those who in the loftiest heaven be

I looked on her, less haughty and more fair.

She touched my hand, she said, “Within this sphere,

If hope deceive not, thou shalt dwell with me:

I filled thy life with war’s wild agony;

Mine own day closed ere evening could appear.

My bliss no human brain can understand;

I wait for thee alone, and that fair veil

Of beauty thou dost love shall wear again.”

Why was she silent then, why dropped my hand

Ere those delicious tones could quite avail

To bid my mortal soul in heaven remain?