Sonnet 47

Dame, depuis que la premiere fleche
De ton bel oeil m’avança la douleur,
Et que sa blanche et sa noire couleur
Forçant ma force, au cœur me firent breche :
Je sens en l’ame une eternelle meche
Tousjours flambante au milieu de mon cueur,
Phare amoureux, qui guide ma langueur
Par un beau feu qui tout le corps me seche.
Ny nuit ne jour je ne fay que songer,
Limer mon coeur, le mordre et le ronger,
Priant Amour qu’il me trenche la vie.
Mais luy qui rit du torment qui me poind,
Plus je l’appelle, et plus je le convie,
Plus fait le sourd et ne me respond point.
                                                                       My lady, since the first arrow
                                                                       Of your lovely eye brought on my sorrows
                                                                       And since its whiteness and darkness
                                                                       Overcoming my power made a breach in my heart
                                                                       I feel in my soul an everlasting lash
                                                                       Continually flaming in the midst of my heart
                                                                       A lover’s lighthouse, which guides my pining
                                                                       With a sweet fire which withers my whole body.
                                                                       Night and day I do nothing but dream
                                                                       Rubbing away at my heart, tearing at it and eating it away,
                                                                       Praying Love to cut off my life.
                                                                       But he, laughing at the torment I’m in,
                                                                       The more I call on him, the more I urge him,
                                                                       The more he plays deaf and gives me no reply.
 Another poem modified quite substantially by Ronsard. Blanchemain’s version has this second quatrain instead:
Je sens tousjours une amoureuse mesche,
Qui se rallume au milieu de mon coeur,
Dont le beau rai (ainsi comme une fleur
S’écoule au chaud) dessus le pié me seiche.
                                                                       I feel always the lash of love
                                                                       Reviving in the depths of my heart
                                                                       Whose lovely rays – like when a flower
                                                                       Fades in the heat – wither me on the stalk.

About fattoxxon

Who am I? Lover of all sorts of music - classical, medieval, world (anything from Africa), world-classical (Uzbek & Iraqi magam for instance), and virtually anything that won't be on the music charts... Lover of Ronsard's poetry (obviously) and of sonnets in general. Reader of English, French, Latin & other literature. And who is Fattoxxon? An allusion to an Uzbek singer - pronounce it Patahan, with a very plosive 'P' and a throaty 'h', as in 'khan')

One response »

  1. Pingback: Cassandre 38-50: a note « Oeuvres de Ronsard

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