Biography of Francesco Petrarch
Francesco Petrarca (Italian pronunciation: [franˈtʃesko peˈtrarka]; July 20, 1304 – July 19, 1374), commonly anglicized as Petrarch (/ˈpiːtrɑːrk, ˈpɛtrɑːrk/), was an Italian scholar and poet in Renaissance Italy, and one of the earliest humanists. Petrarch's rediscovery of Cicero's letters is often credited for initiating the 14th-century Renaissance. Petrarch is often called the "Father of Humanism". In the 16th century, Pietro Bembo created the model for the modern Italian language based on Petrarch's works, as well as those of Giovanni Boccaccio, and, to a lesser extent, Dante Alighieri. Petrarch would be later endorsed as a model for Italian style by the Accademia della Crusca. Petrarch's sonnets were admired and imitated throughout Europe during the Renaissance and became a model for lyrical poetry. He is also known for being the first to develop the concept of the "Dark Ages." This standing back from his time was possible because he straddled two worlds - the classical and his own modern day.
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Francesco Petrarch Poems
Diana was never more pleasing to her lover, when, by a stroke of fate, he saw her naked, shown in the deep pool of icy water, than I was by the mountain shepherdess,
Being one day at my window all alone, So manie strange things happened me to see, As much as it grieveth me to thinke thereon. At my right hand a hynde appear'd to mee,
I go weeping for my time past,
I go weeping for my time past, that I spent in loving something mortal, without lifting myself in flight, for I had wings
I have not seen you, lady,
I have not seen you, lady, leave off your veil in sun or shadow, since you knew that great desire in myself
I find no peace, and yet I make no war:
I find no peace, and yet I make no war: and fear, and hope: and burn, and I am ice: and fly above the sky, and fall to earth,
If No Love Is, O God, What Fele I So? (S...
If no love is, O God, what fele I so? And if love is, what thing and which is he? If love be good, from whennes cometh my woo? If it be wikke, a wonder thynketh me,
O my own Italy! though words are vain The mortal wounds to close, Unnumber'd, that thy beauteous bosom stain,
You who hear the sound, in scattered rhy...
You who hear the sound, in scattered rhymes, of those sighs on which I fed my heart, in my first vagrant youthfulness,
Doth any Maiden Seek The Glorious Fame
DOTH any maiden seek the glorious fame Of chastity, of strength, of courtesy? Gaze in the eyes of that sweet enemy
I have offered you my heart a thousand t...
I have offered you my heart a thousand times O my sweet warrior, only to make peace with your lovely eyes: but it does not please you
From what part of the heavens, from what...
From what part of the heavens, from what idea came the example, from which Nature took
That nightingale who weeps so sweetly,
That nightingale who weeps so sweetly, perhaps for his brood, or his dear companion, fills the sky and country round with sweetness
Sonnet 101 [Ways apt and new to sing of ...
Ways apt and new to sing of love I'd find, Forcing from her hard heart full many a sigh, And re-enkindle in her frozen mind
Sonnet 131 [I'd sing of Love in such a n...
I'd sing of Love in such a novel fashion that from her cruel side I would draw by force a thousand sighs a day, kindling again
Clear, sweet fresh water
‘Chiare, fresche et dolci acque,'
Clear, sweet fresh water
where she, the only one who seemed
woman to me, rested her beautiful limbs:
gentle branch where it pleased her
(with sighs, I remember it)
to make a pillar for her lovely flank:
grass and flowers which her dress