Amours retranch. [86]

Si trop souvent, quand le desir me presse,
Tout affamé de vivre de vos yeux,
Peureux, honteux, pensif et soucieux
Devant vostre huis je repasse, maistresse, 
Pardonnez-moy ma mortelle deesse,
Si, malgré moy, je vous suis ennuyeux ;
Malgré moy, non, car j’aime beaucoup mieux,
Sans vous fascher, trespasser de tristesse, 
Las ! si je passe et passe si souvent
Auprès de vous, fantastique et resvant,
C’est pour embler un traict de votre veue, 
Qui fait ma vie en mon corps sejourner.
Permettez donc que l’ame soit repeue
D’un bien qui n’est moindre pour le donner.
                                                                            If too often when desire is pressing,
                                                                            Starved by living on your eyes alone,
                                                                            Fearful, ashamed, pensive and worried
                                                                            I walk back and forth before your gates, my mistress,
                                                                            Pardon me then, my mortal goddess;
                                                                            And [pardon me] if despite myself I irritate you,
                                                                            Despite myself – no – for I love too well
                                                                            To die of sadness without annoying you;
                                                                            Alas, if I pass and re-pass so often
                                                                            Close by you, fantastical and dreaming,
                                                                            It is to steal a drink of the sight of you
                                                                            To make my life stay on in my body.
                                                                            Allow my soul, then, to be sated
                                                                            With a good which is not less for the giving.
There’s only a Blanchemain version to offer for this one: I haven’t located it in Marty-Laveaux’s text so far.  Another one of those early, charming poems later put to one side by the older Ronsard …

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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