Sonnet CLXXX Tutto ‘L di Piango; e Poi la Notte, Quando
Her Cruelty Renders Life Worse Than Death to Him
Through the long lingering day, estranged from rest,
My sorrows flow unceasing; doubly flow,
Painful prerogative of lover’s woe!
In that still hour, when slumber soothes th’ unblest.
With such deep anguish is my heart opprest,
So stream mine eyes with tears! Of things below
Most miserable I; for Cupid’s bow
Has banish’d quiet from this heaving breast.
Ah me! while thus in suffering, morn to morn
And eve to eve succeeds, of death I view
(So should this life be named) one-half gone by—
Yet this I weep not, but another’s scorn;
That she, my friend, so tender and so true,
Should see me hopeless burn, and yet her aid deny.
Wrangham.