English

WHEREIN HIS LADY ON BOAT, IN CAR, SITTETH AND SINGETH WITH HER COMPANIONS

Twelve ladies who on rare toil lightly lean,
Twelve constellations, rather, round the sun,
I watched as the bright boat they sat upon
Burnished the waters that had never seen
The like: not such drew Jason from his queen
Toward that fatal fleece whose gold threads run
Blood, nor the boy's whose amorous verdict spun
Ilium's doom and burned whole worlds between.
I saw them next on a triumphal car,
Where, marked by her angelic attributes,

CONFESSION

If faith most faithful, heart to guile unknown;
If Love's delicious languors, chastened thought;
If passion by the purer passions taught;
If labyrinthine wanderings, cold, alone;
If every pang upon the forehead flown
Like fire or faltered out in tones distraught
As shame or terror on my gray cheek wrought
Vermillion ravage with Love's blushes blown;
If than myself to hold one dearer far;
If still to weep, still burst the soul with sighs
Fostered in fever, fanned by Love's long war;

WHEREIN HIS NIGHTS, LIKE HIS DAYS, ARE DEDICATED TO DARKNESS AND LAMENTATION

When the sun whips his horses snorting flame
And pawing crimson to the western wave,
Grief grinds my soul in darkness like the grave;
Sick moon and stars, streaked heaven watch my shame:
What folly then to weep, rehearse my name,
Paint the unheeded pathos of a slave,
Lament a false world, one who will not save —
Love, Laura, self and destiny to blame!
From evening's violet look to dawn's high shout
Sleep with averted sidelong glare I follow:

WHEREIN HE INQUIRES OF HER COMPANIONS CONCERNING HIS LADY'S ABSENCE P .

Pensive and pleased, accompanied, alone,
Ladies who laugh and chat the hours away,
Where does my life, my lovely death delay?
Where is your dear, familiar comrade flown? L .
Happy are we her rare light to have known,
And sad from her sweet company to stay,
Ah, jealousy and envy, double prey,
Resenting bliss, rejoicing that we moan! P .
Who can check lovers, challenge them by law? L .
None stops the soul, though wrath defeat the flesh;

HER EYES DEFEAT HIS FACULTIES

What destiny of mine, what force, what ruse
Again persuades me weaponless to field
Where always in the shameful dust I yield?
Escape or perish — either way what use?
And yet, some use: for through my heart infuse
Such splendours from so sweet, so bright-revealed
A source, the fatal flame still flows that sealed
My doom which now the twentieth year renews.
The couriers of death I feel when those
Adorable eyes from dazzling distance come,

A CATECHISM OF HIS LADY'S CHARMS — WITH NO ANSWERS

From what source could Love suck the gold, what vein
Packed ore into those tresses? What thorn gave
That rose up? And what meadow could so lave
With white dew those locks dropping gold again
And yet again? What pearl-paved grottoes rain
Such lustre on that mouth whence murmurs grave
And golden move like bells beneath a wave?
Whence came those graces like some starry stain?
Ah, what fierce angels lead, what spheres can sway
The heavenly song that ravishes away

HER LUSTRE EXCEEDS THE SUN

The sweet new melancholy song of birds
At daybreak fills the valleys all around
With silver beauty, and the silver sound
Of water in the meadows adds new words.
Aurora, tressed like Jason's golden herds,
Whose forehead with love's constancy is bound,
Combing her consort's frosty head, has found
Me listening to the liquid minor thirds.
Thus, roused from slumber, I salute the sun;
But that sun chiefest whose melodious light
Dazzled my youth and dazzles still my sight.

HER DEATH WOULD LEAVE NATURE ITSELF IN DARKNESS

Wheresoever, among what maids she move,
Lovely or feather-light, she moves alone,
Subduing every lustre to her own,
As the day-star annuls night's twinkling drove.
With tongue of prophecy still whispers Love:
" While to our mortal sight that brow is shown,
Life shall be rich; but when the rose is blown,
I shall be dust of dreams men weary of.
Should Nature pluck the moon and sun away,
Silence the wind, each herb and flower uproot,

WHEREIN PRAISING HER IS HIS DUTY AND ENTIRE RECOMPENSE

Erewhile I toiled, and with so just a reason,
And in such fervid verses to win hearing,
I seemed at length to feel a slight spark stirring
Through that heart's frost, though danced the summer breeze on
The world ... That cloud, whose web cloaked it like treason,
Broke at my first warm breath, or else incurring
The blame of others, to that blame demurring,
Her burning eyes withdrew for a brief season.
I ask no pity for myself, nor hate

HER INDIFFERENCE COMPELS HIM TO ENDURE A LIVING DEATH

The livelong day, the restless livelong dark
Marks my dull flood of tears; ah, doubly pour,
Impartial and imperious saviour,
In that dead hour of slumber's swarthy arc!
With such deep woe, such anguish sharp and stark
Is my heart weighted, wounded more and more
My sleepless eyes, none is so wretched, nor
Is any breast so much the Archer's mark.
Ah God! while lurid dawn on dawn breaks through,
While night steps on the heels of wide-eyed night,