Helen 2: 13

Quand je pense à ce jour, où pres d’une fonteine
Dans le jardin royal ravy de ta douceur,
Amour te descouvrit les secrets de mon cœur,
Et de combien de maux j’avois mon ame pleine :
Je me pasme de joye, et sens de veine en veine
Couler ce souvenir, qui me donne vigueur,
M’aguise le penser, me chasse la langueur,
Pour esperer un jour une fin à ma peine.
Mes sens de toutes parts se trouverent contens,
Mes yeux en regardant la fleur de ton Printemps,
L’oreille en t’escoutant : et sans ceste compagne,
Qui tousjours nos propos tranchoit par le milieu,
D’aise au Ciel je volois, et me faisois un Dieu :
Mais tousjours le plaisir de douleur s’accompagne.
                                                                            When I think of that day, when near a fountain
                                                                            In the royal garden, enamoured with your sweetness,
                                                                            Love disclosed to you the secrets of my heart
                                                                            And how many ills filled my soul;
                                                                            Then I swoon with joy, and feel this memory
                                                                            Running from vein to vein, giving me strength,
                                                                            Sharpening my thinking, chasing away my indolence,
                                                                            In hoping one day for an end to my troubles.
                                                                            My senses are content in every way,
                                                                            My eyes in looking at the flower of your Springtime,
                                                                            And my ears in hearing you; and without this company
                                                                            Which always breaks off our conversation right in the middle,
                                                                            Happily I would fly to heaven and make myself a god;
                                                                            But my pleasure is always accompanied by pain.
As often in Helen, no Blanchemain variants; though he helpfully adds a footnote to tell us the ‘royal gardens’ are the Tuileries…

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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