Is it just me, or is there a sense of a new beginning here? Maybe I’m influenced by having paused at the ‘magic number’ 150 – nothing like that would have been in Ronsard’s mind as the structure & contents of the book shifted over time… The earlier Blanchemain version differs in detail: line 5 is “Du cœur des rocs le ciel degoutte et sue” (‘Heaven drop and be exuded from the heart of rocks’); and line 11 ends “… ma dame veut desfaire” (‘… my lady tries to undo’). For those interested in sources, this poem closely mirrors one of Pietro Bembo’s – that’s Cardinal Pietro Bembo, though he was a humanist scholar first…! His sonnet 39 goes as follows (my ‘translation’ is more like an ‘approximation’ since I’ve never studied Italian and cannot guarantee the detail!): Correte fiumi a le vostre alte fonti, Onde al soffiar de’ venti or vi fermate, Abeti e faggi il mar profondo amate, Umidi pesce e voi gli alpestri monti. Nè si porti dipinta ne le fronti Alma pensieri e voglie innamorate : Ardendo ‘l verno agghiacci omai la state, E’l Sol là oltre, ond’ alza, chini e smonti. Cosa non vada più come solea : Poi che quel nodo è sciolto, ond’ io fui preso ; Ch’ altro che morte scioglier non devea. Dolce mio stato chi mi t’ ha conteso ? Com’ esser può quel, ch’ esser non potea ? O cielo, o terra : e so ch’ io sono inteso. Run, streams, back to your original springs; Waves, stand still at the blowing of the winds; Firs and beeches, love the deep sea; And you, wet fish, [love] the alpine mountains. Do not carry pictured on your brows Dear thoughts and wishes of love; Burning winter, now stand frozen And Sun, sink and dismount there where you rise. Things no longer go as they used to, Now that this knot is loosed, in which I was caught, Which nothing other than death should break. My sweet being, who has put us in conflict? How can that be, which could not be? O heaven, o earth! I know I am understood.