Sonnet 29

Si mille oeillets, si mille liz j’embrasse,
Entortillant mes bras tout à l’entour,
Plus fort qu’un cep, qui d’un amoureux tour
La branche aimée, en mille plis enlasse :
Si le soucy ne jaunist plus ma face,
Si le plaisir fait en moy son sejour,
Si j’aime mieux les ombres que le jour,
Songe divin, ce bien vient de ta grace.
En te suivant je volerois aux cieux :
Mais ce portrait qui nage dans mes yeux,
Fraude tousjours ma joye entre-rompue.
Puis tu me fuis au milieu de mon bien,
Comme un éclair qui se finist en rien,
Ou comme au vent s’évanouit la nuë.
                                                                      If I embrace a thousand carnations, a thousand lilies,
                                                                      Twisting them all around my arms
                                                                      Tighter than a vine which in amorous style
                                                                      Entwines its beloved branch in a thousand curves;
                                                                      If care no longer jaundices my face,
                                                                      If pleasure chooses to stay with me,
                                                                      If I prefer the shadows to the day,
                                                                      My divine dream, this good comes from your favour.
                                                                      Following you I could fly to the heavens;
                                                                      But this image which swims in my eyes
                                                                      Always deceives my exhausted joy;
                                                                      And then you flee from me in the midst of my happiness,
                                                                      Like a flash of lightning which ends in nothing,
                                                                      Or like a cloud which disappears in the breeze.
 Although Ronsard did not make substantial changes in this poem, there are variants in the penultimate tercet. What I have put above is actually a mingling of Marty-Laveaux’s text with Blanchemain’s of that tercet (lines 9-11), because I think Blanchemains version is far better in that section.  
For reference, and as your judgement may be different from mine, here is Marty-Laveaux’s version of these lines:
Suivant ton vol je volerois aux cieux :
Mais son portrait qui me trompe les yeux,
Fraude tousjours ma joye entre-rompue.
                                                                    Following your flight I could fly to the heavens;
                                                                      But her image which fools my eyes
                                                                      Always deceives my exhausted joy;

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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