Sonnet 49

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Amour, Amour, que ma maistresse est belle !
Soit que j’admire ou ses yeux mes seigneurs,
Ou de son front la grace et les honneurs,
Ou le vermeil de sa lèvre jumelle.
 
Amour, Amour, que ma Dame est cruelle !
Soit qu’un desdain rengrege mes douleurs,
Soit qu’un despit face naistre mes pleurs,
Soit qu’un refus mes playes renouvelle.
 
Ainsi le miel de sa douce beauté
Nourrit mon cœur : ainsi sa cruauté
D’un fiel amer aigrist toute ma vie :
 
Ainsi repeu d’un si divers repas,
Ores je vis, ores je ne vy pas,
Egal au sort des freres d’Oebalie.
 
 
 
                                                                       Love, o Love, my mistress is so beautiful!
                                                                       Whether I look on her eyes, which rule me,
                                                                       Or the grace and beauty of her forehead,
                                                                       Or the crimson of her twin lips.
 
                                                                       Love, o Love, my mistress is so cruel!
                                                                       Whether her disdain enmeshes me in sadness,
                                                                       Or her spite makes my tears well up,
                                                                       Or her refusal renews my pleas.
 
                                                                       Thus the honey of her soft beauty
                                                                       Feeds my heart: and thus her cruelty
                                                                       Embitters my whole life with acrid gall;
 
                                                                       Thus, fed on such varied food
                                                                       Sometimes I live, sometimes not,
                                                                       Just like the fate of the brothers from Oebale.
 
 
Oebale is Sparta, in Greece; the twins Castor and Pollux were born there. When Castor was killed, Pollux shared his own immortality with his twin and they were transformed into the constellation Gemini.
 
Blanchemain’s version is identical, except for the opening ejaculation of the two quatrains: “Mon Dieu !  mon Dieu ! que … “
 
 
 
 
 
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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')

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

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