In the age its finest flowering Epiù…
E viva… bella is al ciel salita…
Petrarca *
My beauty-queen
I am young lyrics,
And the sad pages of the heart,
And doom obscure strokes.
You are my idol. Poems and Songs
You only want to transfer,
For me you are all prettier,
And in you all the grace of the heart.
How quiet the angel to the head,
You bent my dreams,
But how I love you grief,
Unable to pass verses.
Forgive me for these hymns:
I meant to tell them,
That you love one in the world,
What do you pray for a long time.
27 November 1898
St. Petersburg
__________
*The most beautiful, the flourishing age…
live, beautiful rose in the sky.
Petrarca (ital.). - Red.
