"Sonnet 207"
by Petrarch
O lovely little bird, I watch you fly.
And grieving for the past I hear you sing,
I see the night and winter hastening.
I see the day and happy summer die.
If you could hear my heart in answer, cry.
It's pain to your sad tune, you'd swiftly wing,
Into my bosom, comfort you would bring.
And we would weep together, you and I.
'Tis no
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