Petrarch, 118:

So now the sixteenth year is passed,
and I am moving towards my end, and yet
it seems to me that I have only begun
Suffering.

Oh, the bitter is sweet, and everything lost
is a gain, and my life is hard. I pray
That I live beyond these tough times,
And I am so afraid that death will close her eyes
Before my luck changes, and she at last turns her head
My way.

Here I am, I wish I were somewhere else;
I wish that I wished for more, and wished no more,
and unable to do any more, I do only what I can.

These new tears come from my old desire.
They prove that I haven't changed:
Though I have turned a thousand times, I have not moved An inch.

yours, Peter T.