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

She Is ever Present to him

By Petrarch (1304–1374)

“Se lamentar augelli, o verdi fronde”

Translation of Barbarina, Lady Dacre

IF the the lorn bird complain, or rustling sweep

Soft summer airs o’er foliage waving slow,

Or the hoarse brook come murmuring down the steep,

Where on the enameled bank I sit below

With thoughts of love that bid my numbers flow,—

’Tis then I see her, though in earth she sleep!

Her, formed in heaven! I see, and hear, and know!

Responsive sighing, weeping as I weep:

“Alas!” she pitying says, “ere yet the hour,

Why hurry life away with swifter flight?

Why from thy eyes this flood of sorrow pour?

No longer mourn my fate! through death my days

Become eternal! to eternal light

These eyes, which seemed in darkness closed, I raise!”