With sonnet 143 already posted, let’s move on to no. 144
J’iray tousjours et resuant et songeant En ceste prée où je vy l’angelette, Qui d’esperance et de crainte m’allaitte, Et dans ses yeux mes destins va logeant. Quel fil de soye en tresses s’allongeant Ornoit ce jour sa teste nouvelette ? De quelle rose, et de quelle fleurette Sa face alloit, comme Iris, se changeant ? Ce n’estoit point une mortelle femme Que je vy lors, ny de mortelle dame Elle n’avoit ny le front ny les yeux. Donques, Raison, ce ne fut chose estrange Si je fu pris : c’estoit vrayment un Ange, Qui pour nous prendre estoit venu des Cieux. I shall always walk perspiring and dreaming In that meadow where I saw the sweet angel Who breast-feeds me with hope and fear, And who keeps my fortunes in her eyes. What thread of silk stretching out in braids That day adorned her sweet fresh head? With what rose, with what sweet flowers Did her face, like Iris, keep changing colour? It was certainly not a mortal lady Whom I saw then, nor of mortal woman Did she have the brow nor eyes. O Reason, it was not therefore so strange If I was caught; it was truly an angel Who had come from heaven to capture me.
This is another poem that is not in Blanchemain’s Cassandre – and which I have been too lazy to go and find in his volume of ‘excluded’ poems. Consequently just the plain text to consider today. And it is one of those poems that is consistently on-theme all the way through, with no switch of direction at the end. Iris in line 8 might need a brief explanation: she was the goddess of the rainbow, hence her changing colours.