ON THE RECENT DEATHS OF HIS FRIEND COLONNA AND
HIS LADY LAURA
(from Petrarch)
Broken. The high column. The green laurel.
The shade in which my tired thoughts
could rest.
I have lost what is, to retrieve,
hopeless; no matter where I look-no wind
can reach them, no ocean touch them.
You have taken away both my treasures,
Death. They made my life easy, my step high.
To restore them?
Not earth or empire, not jewels, not even
money itself.
Rut since destiny has consented, what is left
if not to have a sad soul?
to be constantl y
on the edge of tears; head bent down.
Is this our life?
It
seems so lovely. But how easi ly we lose
in one morning, what took so many years to get
and such great pain.
