The Poetry Corner

Sonnet CXLVI.

By Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch)

Geri, quando talor meco s' adira. HE APPEASES HER BY HUMILITY, AND EXHORTS A FRIEND TO DO LIKEWISE. When my sweet foe, so haughty oft and high, Moved my brief ire no more my sight can thole, One comfort is vouchsafed me lest I die, Through whose sole strength survives my harass'd soul; Where'er her eyes--all light which would deny To my sad life--in scorn or anger roll, Mine with such true humility reply, Soon their meek glances all her rage control, Were it not so, methinks I less could brook To gaze on hers than on Medusa's mien, Which turn'd to marble all who met her look. My friend, act thus with thine, for closed I ween All other aid, and nothing flight avails Against the wings on which our master sails. MACGREGOR.