F. Petrarca

If far from turbid thoughts and gloomy mood Some smiling day should see my wish fulfilled Where breathe the vales with gentle brooks enrilled The soft air of my Tuscan neighbourhood, There, where is heard no more the garrulous brood Of thoughtless minds, in deep oblivion stilled, Would I to thee my heart's pure altar build In the green blackness of the tangled wood.

There with the dying splendours of the sun Thy song should glow amid the flowers springing On breezy banks where whispering streams do run; As if, still sweeter sounds and odours flinging Upward to heaven when the day is done, A nightingale from bough to bough were singing.

LEVIA GRAVIA.