Nugae Canorae | ||
210
SONNET XXXV. FROM PETRARCH.
31st Jan. 1807.
Oh chamber, which, till late, retreat supplied,
From heavy storms that pelted through the day,
Thou seest me now to pining care a prey,
Which from the curious world I fain would hide.
Oh couch, where common griefs are laid aside,
How oft thy shelter did my pangs allay?
Now bath'd with tears, my sighs to thee betray
A cureless passion to despair allied.
Of solitude I am not weary grown:
Myself I fear and my consuming woe,
My tortur'd soul, my insuppressive foe!
And vulgar souls, from whom I long have flown,
(Oh, humbling change!) a refuge now bestow,
So much I dread to find myself alone.
Nugae Canorae | ||