Sonnet 93

Standard
Le premier jour du mois de May, Madame,
Dedans le cueur je senti vos beaux yeux
Bruns, doux, courtois, rians, delicieux,
Qui d’un glaçon feroyent naistre une flame.
 
De leur beau jour le souvenir m’enflame,
Et par penser j’en deviens amoureux.
O de mon cœur les meurtriers bien-heureux !
Vostre vertu je sens jusques en l’ame :
 
Yeux qui tenez la clef de mon penser,
Maistres de moy, qui peustes offenser
D’un seul regard ma raison toute esmeüe :
 
Si fort au cœur vostre beauté me poingt,
Que je devois jouïr de vostre veüe
Plus longuement ou bien ne vous voir point.

 

 
 
                                                                                             On the first day of May, my lady,
                                                                                             Within my heart I felt your lovely eyes,
                                                                                             Brown, sweet, courteous, laughing, delicious,
                                                                                             Which with a glance started a fire.
 
                                                                                             The memory of their lovely light burns me
                                                                                             And in thinking of it I’ve fallen in love with them,
                                                                                             Those sweet murderers of my heart!
                                                                                             I feel your worth down in my soul;
 
                                                                                             Those eyes which hold the key to my thoughts,
                                                                                             My masters, who can with a single look
                                                                                             Overwhelm my deeply-affected reason.
 
                                                                                             So strongly your beauty wounds me in the heart
                                                                                             That I must enjoy the sight of you
                                                                                             For longer, or else see you no more.
 
 
 
 Blanchemain offers a variation of the final tercet – or rather, the first half of the tercet:
 
 
Ha ! que je suis de vostre amour époingt,
Las ! je devois jouïr de vostre veüe
Plus longuement ou bien ne vous voir point.
 
                                                                                             Oh how I am stabbed by love for you
                                                                                             Alas, I must enjoy the sight of you
                                                                                             For longer, or else see you no more.
 
 
 
 
 
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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')

One response »

  1. Pingback: Sonnet 94 | Oeuvres de Ronsard

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