Sonnet 96

Pren ceste rose aimable comme toy,
Qui sers de rose aux roses les plus belles,
Qui sers de fleur aux fleurs les plus nouvelles,
Dont la senteur me ravist tout de moy.
Pren ceste rose, et ensemble reçoy
Dedans ton sein mon cœur qui n’a point d’ailes :
Il est constant, et cent playes cruelles
N’ont empesché qu’il ne gardast sa foy.
La rose et moy differons d’une chose :
Un Soleil voit naistre et mourir la rose,
Mille Soleils ont veu naistre m’amour,
Dont l’action jamais ne se repose.
Que pleust à Dieu que telle amour enclose
Comme une fleur, ne m’eust duré qu’un jour.


                                                                                             Take this rose, lovely as yourself,
                                                                                             Who are a rose among the prettiest roses,
                                                                                             Who are a flower among the freshest flowers,
                                                                                             Whose scent so entirely delights me.
                                                                                             Take this rose, and with it accept
                                                                                             Into your breast my heart, which has no wings:
                                                                                             It is constant, and a hundred deep wounds
                                                                                             Have not stopped it from keeping faith with you.
                                                                                             The rose and I, we differ in one way:
                                                                                             One day sees the rose born and die
                                                                                             But a thousand days have watched my love born
                                                                                             And it will never rest.
                                                                                             But would to God that this hidden love
                                                                                             Should, like a flower, have lasted me but a day.
 Blanchemain offers an alternative in the penultimate line:  “Ha ! plut à Dieu que telle amour éclose” (‘this blossoming love’) which seems to me a better choice of word!

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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