Poem of the Day

Sonnet XX by Francesco Petrarch

Feeling ashamed that I still seem to pass
Over your beauty, Lady, in my rhyme,
I remember when I for the first time
Saw you, made for my love as no one was:
But the burden I find crushes my frame,
The work cannot be polished by my file,
And my talent which knows its strength and style
In this attempt becomes frozen and lame.
Several times I moved my lips to cry;
But my voice was constrained within my lungs.
Which is the sound that can soar up so high?
Several times I began vriting songs;
But pen and hand and itellect were bound
To be conquered and caught in the first round.

The Portable Petrarch