SONNET FROM PETRARCH, ON THE DEATH OF LAURA.
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TRANSLATED BY ALICE GREY.
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Where is the brow that, with the slightest sigh,
Moved my fond heart, its most devoted slave?
Where the fair eye-lid, and those stars divine,
Which to my life its only lustre gave?
Where is the worth, the wise, accomplished mind;
The prudent, modest, humble, sweet discourse?