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C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

His Only Desire Is Again to be with her

By Petrarch (1304–1374)

“Passato è ’l tempo omai, lasso! che tanto”

Translation of Dr. Morehead

AH! gone for ever are the happy years

That soothed my soul amid Love’s fiercest fire,

And she for whom I wept and tuned my lyre

Has gone, alas!—but left my lyre, my tears:

Gone is the face, whose holy look endears;

But in my heart, ere yet it did retire,

Left the sweet radiance of its eyes entire;

My heart? Ah, no! not mine! for to the spheres

Of light she bore it captive, soaring high,

In angel robe triumphant, and now stands

Crowned with the laurel wreath of chastity:

Oh, could I throw aside these earthly bands

That tie me down where wretched mortals sigh,

To join blest spirits in celestial lands!