Francesco Petrarca (1304–1374)

Translated by Sir Thomas Wyatt

I FIND no peace, and all my war is done;

I fear and hope, I burn and freeze likewise;

I fly above the wind, yet cannot rise;

And nought I have, yet all the world I seize on;

That looseth, nor locketh, holdeth me in prison,

And holds me not, yet can I ’scape no wise;

Nor lets me live, nor die, at my devise,

And yet of death it giveth none occasion.

Without eyes I see, and without tongue I plain;

I wish to perish, yet I ask for health;

I love another, and yet I hate myself;

I feed in sorrow, and laugh in all my pain;

Lo, thus displeaseth me both death and life,

And my delight is causer of my grief.