Sonnet 98

Standard
Tout me desplaist, mais rien ne m’est si grief
Qu’estre absenté des beaux yeux de ma Dame
Qui des plaisirs les plus doux de mon ame
En leurs rayon ont emporté la clef.
 
Un torrent d’eau s’écoule de mon chef :
Et tout rempli de soupirs je me pâme,
Perdant le feu dont la divine flame
Seule guidoit de mes pensers la nef.
 
Depuis le jour que je senti sa braise,
Autre beauté je n’ay veu qui me plaise,
Ny ne verray :  Mais bien puissé-je voir
 
Qu’avant mourir seulement cette Fere
D’un seul tour d’œil promette un peu d’espoir
Au coup d’Amour, dont je me desespere.
 
 
                                                                                             Everything displeases me, but nothing is as painful
                                                                                             As to be [sent] away from the lovely eyes of my lady,
                                                                                             Who in their rays has taken away the key
                                                                                             To the sweetest pleasures of my soul.
 
                                                                                             A torrent of water flows from my eyes,
                                                                                             And full of sighs I faint
                                                                                             At losing the fire whose divine flame
                                                                                             Alone could pilot the ship of my thoughts.
 
                                                                                             Since the day when I felt her warmth,
                                                                                             I’ve seen no other beauty which could please me,
                                                                                             Nor shall I. But I wish I could just see
 
                                                                                             Before dying this proud Beast
                                                                                             With a single glance of her eye promise a little hope
                                                                                             To Love’s wound, of which I despair.
 
 
 Blanchemain offers several variants in the first six lines:
 
 
Tout me desplaist, mais rien ne m’est si grief
Que ne voir point les beaus yeux de ma Dame,
Qui des plaisirs les plus doux de mon ame
Avecques eux ont emporté la clef.
 
Un torrent d’eau s’escoule de mon chef:
Et, tout confus, de souspirs je me pâme, …
                                                                                             Everything displeases me, but nothing is as painful
                                                                                             As not at all to see the lovely eyes of my lady,
                                                                                             Who with them has taken away the key
                                                                                             To the sweetest pleasures of my soul.
 
                                                                                             A torrent of water flows from my eyes,
                                                                                             And perplexed with sighs I faint …
 
 
 
 
 
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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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