Sonnet LXXXIV
Death has the bright sun quench'd which wont to burn;Her pure and constant eyes his dark realms hold:She now is dust, who dealt me heat and cold;To common trees my chosen laurels turn;Hence I at once my bliss and bane discern.None now there is my feelings who can mouldFrom fire to frost, from timorous to bold,In grief to languish or with hope to yearn.Out of his tyrant hands who harms and heals,Erewhile who made in it such havoc sore,My heart the bitter-sweet of freedom feels.And to the Lord whom, thankful, I adore,The heavens who ruleth merely with his brow,I turn life-weary, if not satiate, now.
Words in this poem
- bane v. t.
- To be the bane of; to ruin. Fuller.
- mould n.
- Crumbling, soft, friable earth; esp., earth containing the remains or constituents of organic matter, and suited to the growth of plants; soil. [OE. molde, AS. molde; akin to D. mul, G. mull, mulm, OHG. molt, molta, Icel. mold, Dan. muld, Sw. mull, Goth. mulda, and E. meal flour. See Meal, and cf. Mole a]
- languish v. i.
- To cause to dr Shak.
- yearn v. t.
- To pain; to grieve; to vex. [Also earn, ern; probably a corruption of OE. ermen to grieve, AS. ierman, yrman, or geierman, geyrman, fr. earm wretched, poor; akin to D. & G. arm, Icel. armr,]
- erewhile adv.
- Some time ago; a little while before; heretofore.
- havoc n.
- Wide and general destruction; devastation; waste. [W. hafog devastation, havoc; or, if this be itself fr. E. havoc, cf. OE. havot, or AS. hafoc hawk, which is a cruel or rapacious bird, or F. hai, voux! a cry to]
- thankful a.
- Obtaining or deserving thanks; thankworthy. [AS. Þancfull.]
- adore v. t.
- To worship with profound reverence; to pay divine honors to; to honor as deity or as divine. [OE. aouren, anouren, adoren, OF. aorer, adorer, F. adorer, fr. L. adorare; ad + orare to speak, pray, os, oris, mouth. In OE. confused with honor, the French pr]
- satiate a.
- Filled to satiety; glutted; sated; -- followed by with or of. [L. satiatus, p. p. of satiare to satisfy, from sat, satis, enough. See Sad, a., and cf. Sate.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Sonnet LXXXIV is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Sonnets, Triumphs and Other Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #17650, the various hands translation; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Petrarch, Sonnet LXXXIV, in The Sonnets, Triumphs and Other Poems (1859), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #17650, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/petrarch-sonnets/sonnet-lxxxiv.html, id L14988.
Form and metre
Sonnet LXXXIV is 14 lines in a single stanza. It rhymes ABBAABBACDCDCD, the pattern of the Italian sonnet. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 87%). 93% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 10.3 syllables. 7% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other Italian sonnets, other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABBAABBACDCDCD burnA · holdB · coldB · turnA · discernA · mouldB · boldB · yearnA · healsC · soreD · feelsC · adoreD · browC · nowD
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Death has the bright sun quench'd which wont to burn; | 10 | ·········· |
| Her pure and constant eyes his dark realms hold: | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| She now is dust, who dealt me heat and cold; | 10 | ·········· |
| To common trees my chosen laurels turn; | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| Hence I at once my bliss and bane discern. | 10 | ········˘/ |
| None now there is my feelings who can mould | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| From fire to frost, from timorous to bold, | 10 | ·/···/˘˘·· |
| In grief to languish or with hope to yearn. | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Out of his tyrant hands who harms and heals, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Erewhile who made in it such havoc sore, | 12 | ·········/˘· |
| My heart the bitter-sweet of freedom feels. | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| And to the Lord whom, thankful, I adore, | 10 | ·····/˘·˘/ |
| The heavens who ruleth merely with his brow, | 11 | ·/˘···/˘··· |
| I turn life-weary, if not satiate, now. | 11 | ···/˘··/˘˘· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.