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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.  The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes.  1917.
 
He Thanks her that from Time to Time she Returns to Console him with her Presence
By Petrarch (1304–1374)
 
“Alma felice, che sovente torni”

Translation of Anne Bannerman

WHEN welcome slumber locks my torpid frame,
  I see thy spirit in the midnight dream;
  Thine eyes that still in living lustre beam:
In all but frail mortality the same.
Ah! then, from earth and all its sorrows free,        5
  Methinks I meet thee in each former scene,
  Once the sweet shelter of a heart serene;
Now vocal only while I weep for thee.
For thee!—ah, no! From human ills secure,
  Thy hallowed soul exults in endless day,        10
  ’Tis I who linger on the toilsome way.
No balm relieves the anguish I endure,
Save the fond feeble hope that thou art near
To soothe my sufferings with an angel’s tear.
 
 
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