pfvb3701

SONNET 1	SONNET 1
Louise Labé	tr. Peter Low
Non hauria Ulysse o qualqunqu'altro mai Piu accorto fù, da quel diuino aspetto Pien die gratie, d'honor et di rispetto Sperato qual i sento affanni e guai. Pur, Amor, co i begli occhi tu fatt' hai Tal piaga dentro al mio innocente petto, Di cibo et di calor gia tuo ricetto, Che rimedio non v'e si tu nel' dai. O sorte dura, che me fa esser quale Punta d'un Scorpio, et domandar riparo Contr' el velen' dall' istesso animale. Chieggio li sol' ancida questa noia, Non estingua el desir a me si caro, Che mancar non potra ch' i non mi muoia.	Not even shrewd Ulysses could have guessed that I would suffer, from a god whose face is full of honour, courtliness and grace, such anguishes and torments in my breast. Yet, Eros, with two eyes you have delivered so many wounds into this innocent heart (of which you already ruled a major part) that there’s no hope for me unless you give it. I’m like the victim of a scorpion’s tail who knows - cruel fate! - all cures are doomed to fail that don’t come from the beast that is to blame. I call on him to end my dreadful pain ... but not to quench this flame of love I cherish, because without it I would surely perish.

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