sonnet iv - Популярные cтихи, рассказы и фанфики

Diodati, e te'l diro con maraviglia,
Quel ritroso io ch'amor spreggiar soleaE de suoi lacci spesso mi
Gia caddi, ov'huom dabben talhor s'impiglia
Ne treccie d'oro, ne guancia vermigliaM' abbaglian si, ma sotto nova

I could not think of thee as piecèd rot,
Yet such thou wert, for thou hadst been long dead;
Yet thou liv'dst entire in my seeing
And what thou wert in me had never fled

Up at his attic sill the South wind came And days of sun and storm but never peace
Along the town's tumultuous arteries He heard the heart-throbs of a sentient frame:
Each night the whistles in the bay, the same Whirl of incessant wheels...