| LAURA BEING DEAD, PETRARCH FINDS TROUBLE IN ALL THE THINGS OF THE EARTH | [29] |
| HE ASKS HIS HEART TO RAISE ITSELF UP TO GOD | [30] |
| HE WISHES HE MIGHT DIE AND FOLLOW LAURA | [31] |
| LAURA IS EVER PRESENT TO HIM | [32] |
| HE CEASES TO SPEAK OF HER GRACES AND HER VIRTUES WHICH ARE NO MORE | [33] |
| HE IS JEALOUS OF THE HEAVENS AND THE EARTH | [34] |
| THE FINE TIME OF THE YEAR INCREASES PETRARCH’S SORROW | [35] |
| HE UNDERSTANDS THE GREAT CRUELTY OF DEATH | [36] |
| THE SIGHT OF LAURA’S HOUSE REMINDS HIM OF THE GREAT HAPPINESS HE HAS LOST | [37] |
| HE SENDS HIS RHYMES TO THE TOMB OF LAURA TO PRAY HER TO CALL HIM TO HER | [38] |
| ONLY HE WHO MOURNS HER, AND HEAVEN THAT POSSESSES HER, KNEW HER WHILE SHE LIVED | [39] |
| LAURA WAITS FOR HIM IN HEAVEN | [40] |
TRANSLATIONS FROM VILLON
AND OTHERS
| PRAYER OF THE OLD WOMAN, VILLON’S MOTHER | [43] |
| AN OLD WOMAN’S LAMENTATIONS | [44] |
| COLIN MUSSET, AN OLD POET, COMPLAINS TO HIS PATRON | [46] |
| WALTER VON DER VOGELWEIDE | [48] |
| LEOPARDI—SILVIA | [49] |
POEMS
PREFACE
I have often thought that at the side of the poetic diction, which everyone condemns, modern verse contains a great deal of poetic material, using poetic in the same special sense. The poetry of exaltation will be always the highest; but when men lose their poetic feeling for ordinary life, and cannot write poetry of ordinary things, their exalted poetry is likely to lose its strength of exaltation, in the way men cease to build beautiful churches when they have lost happiness in building shops.
Many of the older poets, such as Villon and Herrick and Burns, used the whole of their personal life as their material, and the verse written in this way was read by strong men, and thieves, and deacons, not by little cliques only. Then, in the town writing of the eighteenth century, ordinary life was put into verse that was not poetry, and when poetry came back with Coleridge and Shelley, it went into verse that was not always human.
In these days poetry is usually a flower of evil or good; but it is the timber of poetry that wears most surely, and there is no timber that has not strong roots among the clay and worms.
Even if we grant that exalted poetry can be kept successful by itself, the strong things of life are needed in poetry also, to show that what is exalted or tender is not made by feeble blood. It may almost be said that before verse can be human again it must learn to be brutal.
The poems which follow were written at different times during the last sixteen or seventeen years, most of them before the views just stated, with which they have little to do, had come into my head.