“AT VERONA
How steep the stairs within King’s houses are
For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread,
And O how salt and bitter is the bread
Which falls from this Hound’s table, - better far
That I had died in the red ways of war,
Or that the gate of Florence bare my head,
Than to live thus, by all things comraded
Which seek the essence of my soul to mar.

’Curse God and die : what better hope than this?
He hath forgotten thee in all the bliss
Of his gold city, and eternal day -
Nay peace : behind my prison’s blinded bars
I do possess what none can take away,
My love, and all the glory of the stars.”

“RAVENNA
A year ago I breathed the Italian air, -
And yet, methinks this northern Spring is fair, -
These fields made golden with the flower of March,
The throstle singing on the feathered larch,
The cawing rooks, the wood-doves fluttering by,
The little clouds that race across the sky;
And fair the violet’s gentle drooping head,
The primrose, pale for love uncomforted,
The rose that burgeons on the climbing briar,
The crocus-bed, (that seems a moon of fire
Round-girdled with a purple marriage-ring);
And all the flowers of our English Spring,
Fond snowdrops, and the bright-starred daffodil.
Up starts the lark beside the murmuring mill,
And breaks the gossamer-threads of early dew;
And down the river, like a flame of blue,
Keen as an arrow flies the water-king,
While the brown linnets in the greenwood sing.

A year ago! - it seems a little time
Since last I saw that lordly southern clime,
Where flower and fruit to purple radiance blow,
And like bright lamps and fabled apples glow.
FullSpring it was - and by rich flowering vines,
Dark olive-groves and noble forest-pines,
I rode at will; the moist glad air was sweet,
The white road rang beneath my horse’s feet,
And musing on Ravenna’s ancient name,
I watched the day till, marked the wounds of flame,
The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned.”

“THEOCRITUS

O Singer of Persephone!
In the dim meadows desolate
Dost thou remember Sicily?

Still through the ivy flits the bee
Where Amaryllis lies in state;
O Singer of Persephone!

Simaetha calls on Hecate
And hears the wild dogs at the gate;
Dost thou remember Sicily?

Still by the light and laughing sea
Poor Polypheme bemoans his fate;
O Singer Persephone!

And still in boyish rivalry
Young Daphnis challenges his mate;
Dost thou remember Sicily?

Slim Lacon keeps a goat for thee,
For thee the jocund shepherds wait;
O Singer of Persephone!
Dost thou remember Sicily?”

“Almost two years of life have passed me by
While I, sadly, must linger far from you,
O Venice, my dear city, and have seen
No days but evil ones, perverse and hard.
Like an afflicted, weary mariner,
Whom dark of night hems in all round about,
Who years to reach his port, and to return
To his own hemisphere, so long desired,
So I would wish to leave these foreign shores
And helpless sailing on unhappy seas,
And rest my heart in you, dear fatherland;
And so I pray that gentle favoring winds
May shepherd me to that delightful sea
Which happily surrounds you on both sides.”

“The glorious days of old were glad to own
Both Sappho and Corinna, whose wise pens
Raised them as high as to the light of heaven
Through many honorable, virtuous ways.
And now these two, whose hair is bound with laurel,
Not only pour out new streams from Aganippe
But quench all impious and evil customs
With their high works, eternal and rare.
Such that their fame not only overshadows
The ancient two, but everywhere the names
Of Gambara and Pescara resound.
These noble souls inspire me to strive
To bring my little light out of the shadow,
Only that it may shine forth to the world.”

“O unique glory of our present age!
Lady of wisdom, graceful and divine,
To whom all who are worthy of remembrance
Will bow today in deepest reverence.
You memory here below will be eternal,
Nor can old Time himself with ruinous hand
Wreak dire destruction of your lovely name:
Over him you will win great victory.
Our sex should raise to you a noble temple
As in the past to Pallas and to Phoebus,
Built of rich marble and of finest gold.
And since you are a model of all virtue,
I wish, Lady, that I could sing your praises
As much as I revere, love, and adore you.”

“ENDYMION

The apple trees are hung with gold,
And birds are loud in Arcady,
The sheep lie bleating in the fold,
The wild goat runs across the wold,
But yesterday his love he told,
I know he will come back to me.
O rising moon! O Lady moon!
Be you my lover’s sentinel,
You cannot choose but know him well,
For he is shod with purple shoon,
You cannot choose but know my love,
For he a shepherd’s crook doth bear,
And he is soft as any dove,
And brown and curly is his hair.

The turtle now has ceased to call
Upon her crimson-footed groom,
The grey wolf prowls about the stall,
The lily’s singing seneschal
Sleeps in the lily-bell, and all
The violet hills are lost in gloom.

O risen moon! O holy moon!
Stand on the top of Helice,
And if my own true love you see,
Ah! if you see the purple shoon,
The hazel crook, the lad’s brown hair,
The goat-skin wrapped about his arm,
Tell him that I am waiting where
The rushlight glimmers in the Farm.

The falling dew is cold and chill,
And no bird sings in Arcady,
The little fauns have left the hill,
Even the tired daffodil
Has closed its gilded doors, and still
My lover comes not back to me.
False moon! False moon! O waning moon!
Where is my own true lover gone,
Where are the lips vermilion,
The shepherd’s crook,
the purple shoon?
Why spread that silver pavilion,
Why wear that veil of drifting mist?
Ah! thou hast young Endymion,
Thou hast the lips that should be kissed!
”

“And therefore do not cease, gifted women,
To launch your ships of talent on the ocean!
Forget your needles, make yourselves more eager
To labor frequently with pen and paper.
Thus you can win as glorious a fame
As men of whom I bitterly complain.
And also be attentive to your reading
With highest diligence and long endurance...

Let us devote ourselves so totally
To art and to the freeing of our tongues
That we will not be silenced to the point
Of ceding victory to men’s productions.
And let us free ourselves from servitude
But following holy, life supportive reading.
If only we had devoted ourselves to studies
That make our moral aptitudes immortal!”

“SONNET I
As when great Jove came down from heaven
To be the guest beneath some mortal roof,
And os that earthly eyes should not be blinded
By his appearance, he took human form,
And thus he came to my modest abode,
Without his royal pomp that shines and blinds,
Henry, elect by Fate to such high power
That one word could not hold, nor comprehend -
Although thus in disguise, he touched my heart
With such a ray of his supernal merit
As quite extinguished all my native vigor,
So that, confiding in such great affection,
He took my image, in enameled color,
On his departure, with a willing heart.”

“TO MUZIO
You who have Fortune for an enemy -
As in your soul dwell courtesy and valor -
What happy destiny sends you today
To see for one more time your ancient flame?
My gentle Muzio, a soul so friendly
Is such a sweet enrichment to my heart
That I must grieve for the hard rocky way
That gives you such fatigue, quite undeserved.
That honored love which you burned for me
In the Po Valley once, endured so long
That I can’t think so clear a fire has died.
For, if in someone’s face his heart is seen,
I hope that by the Arno’s banks my name
May still be heard to ring through your sweet songs.”

“My sweet and lovely magnet lives in me,
When we are parted, with miraculous power
That binds my soul in a resistless knot
And keeps me ever tied to you alone.
Not that my spirit ever strays from you,
Though, with you far away, I have no joy
Of your beloved presence; yet the more
I hear your voice calling where Love invites.
Love binds about my neck so strong a cord
Of sound and perfect loyalty to you
That from my heart I cast all lesser chains.
All other knots were loosed when this was tied,
And that day broke the bow of victory,
When Love made this last flame in me eternal.”