Amours retranch. 45

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Las je ne veux ny ne me puis desfaire
De ce beau reth, où Amour me tient pris ;
Et puis que j’ay tel voyage entrepris,
Je veux mourir, ou je le veux parfaire.
 
J’oy la Raison qui me dit le contraire,
Et qui retient la bride à mes esprits,
Mais j’ay le cœur de vos yeux si épris
Que d’un tel mal je ne me puis distraire.
 
Tay-toy, Raison : on dit communément,
« Belle fin fait que meurt en bien aimant,
De telle mort je veux suyvre la trace :
 
Ma foy ressemble au rocher endurcy,
Qui sans avoir de l’orage soucy,
Plus est batu et moins change de place.
 
 
 
                                                                            Alas, I neither wish to nor can escape
                                                                            From this fair net in which Love holds me imprisoned,
                                                                            And since I have undertaken this journey
                                                                            I wish either to die, or to complete it.
 
                                                                            I hear Reason telling me not to,
                                                                            And pulling back on the bridle of my spirit ;
                                                                            But my heart is so in love with your eyes
                                                                            That I cannot be diverted by such troubles.
 
                                                                            Be quiet, Reason ! People commonly say
                                                                            “He dies well, who dies from love.”
                                                                            I wish to follow in the steps of such a death !
 
                                                                            My fidelity resembles that of a solid rock
                                                                            Which, careless of the storm,
                                                                            The more it is battered the less it is moved.
 
 
I enjoy the way Ronsard works in common phrases here: the proverb in line 10, the last line.  A pleasant poem with some nice metaphors, but perhaps a lesser jewel than some …
 
 
 
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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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