Sonnet Lxix. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A B CDDCCDDCEFGFEG A HIIJHIIHKILIII I MNNMMNNMIOIOII P| Erano i capei d' oro all' aura sparsi | A |
| - | |
| HE PAINTS THE BEAUTIES OF LAURA PROTESTING HIS UNALTERABLE LOVE | B |
| - | |
| - | |
| Loose to the breeze her golden tresses flow'd | C |
| Wildly in thousand mazy ringlets blown | D |
| And from her eyes unconquer'd glances shone | D |
| Those glances now so sparingly bestow'd | C |
| And true or false meseem'd some signs she show'd | C |
| As o'er her cheek soft pity's hue was thrown | D |
| I whose whole breast with love's soft food was sown | D |
| What wonder if at once my bosom glow'd | C |
| Graceful she moved with more than mortal mien | E |
| In form an angel and her accents won | F |
| Upon the ear with more than human sound | G |
| A spirit heavenly pure a living sun | F |
| Was what I saw and if no more 'twere seen | E |
| T' unbend the bow will never heal the wound | G |
| - | |
| ANON OX | A |
| - | |
| - | |
| Her golden tresses on the wind she threw | H |
| Which twisted them in many a beauteous braid | I |
| In her fine eyes the burning glances play'd | I |
| With lovely light which now they seldom show | J |
| Ah then it seem'd her face wore pity's hue | H |
| Yet haply fancy my fond sense betray'd | I |
| Nor strange that I in whose warm heart was laid | I |
| Love's fuel suddenly enkindled grew | H |
| Not like a mortal's did her step appear | K |
| Angelic was her form her voice methought | I |
| Pour'd more than human accents on the ear | L |
| A living sun was what my vision caught | I |
| A spirit pure and though not such still found | I |
| Unbending of the bow ne'er heals the wound | I |
| - | |
| NOTT | I |
| - | |
| - | |
| Her golden tresses to the gale were streaming | M |
| That in a thousand knots did them entwine | N |
| And the sweet rays which now so rarely shine | N |
| From her enchanting eyes were brightly beaming | M |
| And was it fancy o'er that dear face gleaming | M |
| Methought I saw Compassion's tint divine | N |
| What marvel that this ardent heart of mine | N |
| Blazed swiftly forth impatient of Love's dreaming | M |
| There was nought mortal in her stately tread | I |
| But grace angelic and her speech awoke | O |
| Than human voices a far loftier sound | I |
| A spirit of heaven a living sun she broke | O |
| Upon my sight what if these charms be fled | I |
| The slackening of the bow heals not the wound | I |
| - | |
| WROTTESLEY | P |
Francesco Petrarca (petrarch)
(1)
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