Sonnet 97

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Suivant mes pleurs pleurer vous devriez bien,
Triste maison, pour la fascheuse absence
De ce bel œil qui fut par sa presence
Vostre Soleil, ainçois qui fut le mien.
 
Las! de quels maux, Amour, et de combien
Un long sejour ma peine recompense !
Quand plein de honte à toute heure je pense,
Qu’en un moment j’ay perdu tout mon bien.
 
Or adieu donc beauté qui me desdaigne !
Un bois, un roc, un fleuve, une montaigne
Vous pourront bien eslongner de mes yeux :
 
Mais non du cueur que prompt il ne vous suive,
Et que dans vous plus que dans moy ne vive,
Comme en la part qu’il aime beaucoup mieux.
 
 
                                                                                             Following my tears you really ought to weep,
                                                                                             Sad house, for the grievous absence
                                                                                             Of that fair eye which was by its presence
                                                                                             Your Sun, as it was mine.
 
                                                                                             Alas, with what ills, o Love, and with how many of them
                                                                                             A long wait repays my devotion!
                                                                                             When full of shame all the while I think
                                                                                             That in a moment I’ve lost all my treasure.
 
                                                                                             So, farewell then, beauty which disdains me!
                                                                                             May a wood, a rock, a river, a mountain
                                                                                             Separate you far from my view:
 
                                                                                             But not from my heart, which is ready to follow you
                                                                                             And which lives more in you than in me,
                                                                                             As in the one it loves the better.
 
 
 
This is one of those poems which got revised a little all the way through:  so here is Blanchemain in full.
 
 
Avecque moy pleurer vous devriez bien,
Tertres bessons, pour la fascheuse absence
De celle-là qui fut par sa presence
Vostre Soleil, ainçois qui fut le mien.
 
Las! de quels maux, Amour, et de combien
Une beauté ma peine recompense,
Quand, plein de honte, à toute heure je pense
Qu’en un moment j’ay perdu tout mon bien !
 
Or, adieu donc beauté qui me desdaigne:
Bois et rochers, rivieres et montaignes
Vous pourront bien éloigner de mes yeus:
 
Mais non du coeur, que prompt il ne vous suive,
Et que dans vous, plus que dans moi, ne vive,
Comme en la part qu’il aime beaucoup mieux.
 
 
 
                                                                                             You really ought to weep with me
                                                                                             Twin mounds, for the grievous absence
                                                                                             Of that lady who was by her presence
                                                                                             Your Sun, as she was mine.
 
                                                                                             Alas, with what ills, o Love, and with how many of them
                                                                                             Beauty repays my devotion!
                                                                                             When full of shame all the while I think
                                                                                             That in a moment I’ve lost all my treasure!
 
                                                                                             So, farewell then, beauty who disdains me!
                                                                                             May woods and rocks, rivers and mountains
                                                                                             Separate you far from my view:
 
                                                                                             But not from my heart, which is ready to follow you
                                                                                             And which lives more in you than in me,
                                                                                             In the one it loves the better.
 
 
 [Note: Ronsard obviously couldn’t find an entirely satisfactory solution for that line about rocks and woods; there is yet another variant for the end of the first tercet (line 10-1) which runs “Quelque rocher, quelque bois, ou montaigne /Vous pourra … ” (‘May some rock or wood or mountain / Separate you … ‘).]
 
 
 
 
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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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