Page:Some Love Songs of Petrarch.pdf/128



Master Francesco, I have come to thee And to thy friend, that gentle, fair-haired dame, To calm my angry spirit and set free My grim soul by sweet Sorga's crystal stream. Look! shade and rest I find beneath this tree! I sit, and to the lonely shore I call; Thou comest, and a choir encircles thee Who greet me with a friendly welcome all. And that sweet choir—they are those songs of thine, Down whose fair sides their golden tresses fall— Escaping from the rose-wreaths that entwine Their gathered folds, in ringlets prodigal; And one doth shake her locks, and the rebel cry Breaks from her tuneful lips, 'Rome! Italy!'