To Laura In Death. Sonnet XIII.
Quante fiate al mio dolce ricetto. HER FORM STILL HAUNTS HIM IN SOLITUDE. How oft, all lonely, to my sweet retreat From man and from myself I strive to fly, Bathing with dewy eyes each much-loved seat, And swelling every blossom with a sigh! How oft, deep musing on my woes complete, Along the dark and silent glens I lie, In thought again that dearest form to meet By death possess'd, and therefore wish to die! How oft I see her rising from the tide Of Sorga, like some goddess of the flood; Or pensive wander by the river's side; Or tread the flowery mazes of the wood; Bright as in life; while angel pity throws O'er her fair face the impress of my woes. MERIVALE.
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"Quante fiate al mio dolce ricetto...."
"To Laura In Death. Sonnet XIII." is a quintessential example of Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch)'s signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...