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Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542)

I Find No Peace1

I find no peace, and all my war is done:I fear, and hope; I burn, and freeze like ice;I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise;And nought I have, and all the world I seize on;That locketh nor loseth holdeth me in prison,And holdeth me not, yet can I scape nowise:

Nor letteth me live, nor die at my devise,And yet of death it giveth me occasion.Without eyen I see, and without tongue I plain;I desire to perish, and yet I ask health;I love another, and thus I hate myself;I feed me in sorrow, and laugh in all my pain.Likewise displeaseth me both death and life,And my delight is causer of this strife.

Pierdut-mi este pacea

Pierdut-mi este pacea: n-am arme s m bat,i sper, i ard, i-s ghea, i m cuprinde frica,i-n ceruri zbor, i-n rn zac pururi nemicat;La piept strng lumea-ntreag i n-am la piept nimica.M-a prins ntr-o-nchisoare fr de zvor la poart;

Nici liber nu m las, nici nu m-nchide-n ea.Nu vrea s m ucid Amor, nici nu m iart,Nici viu nu m dorete, nici chinul nu mi-l ia.N-am ochi i vd, i, fr de limb strig la cer;i m ursc pe mine pe ct mi-i ea de drag.mi place c m doare i vesel sunt plngnd;De via i de moarte sunt dezgustat de rnd...Din vina ta, Madon, m chinui viaa-ntreag!

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In imitation of Petrarch, Sonnet 104: Description of the Contrarious Passions in a Lover.

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey (1517-1547)

The Soote Season1

The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings,With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale;The nightingale with feathers new she sings;The turtle to her make hath told her tale.

Summer is come, for every spray now springs,The hart hath hung his old head on the pale;The buck in brake his winter coat he flings;The fishes flete with new repaired scale;The adder all her slough away she slings;The swift swallow pursueth the flyes smale;The busy bee her honey now she mings,Winter is worn that was the flowers bale.And thus I see among these pleasant things

Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs.

Descrierea primverii

Dulce-anotimp cnd muguri ies, i flori,Cnd vi primesc strai verde, i muncele.Cnd cnt nou penet, privighetoriIar turtureii vin la turturele.

Se face cald, cresc lujerii priori;Prin strungi pierd cerbii coarne vechi i grele;i nprlesc prin ctini cpriori;noat tiuci, n zale noi i ele.Vezi iui lstuni de gze vntori;i leapd nprca-ntreaga-i piele;E dus iarna gde-al florilor;Strng miere-acum albine harnicele.i-n raiu-acesta orice psuri mor Doar eu rmn aleanului dator ...

1 Tottels title: Description of Spring, wherin eche thing renewes, saue onelie the louer. Adapted from Petrarchs

310th (269th) sonnet (in some editions the 42nd sonetto in Morte). Surreys spring is English rather than Italian.

Notes:

soote: sweeteke: alsoturtle: turtle dovemake: mateold head: the old hornspale: palisadebrake: fern, rough or marshy landmings: mingles, mixesbale: harm

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Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586)Astrophel and Stella

Sonnet XXXI

With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climbst the skies!How silently, and with how wan a face!

What, may it be that even in heavnly placeThat busy archer his sharp arrows tries!Sure, if that long-with love-acquainted eyesCan judge of love, thou feelst a lovers case,I read it in thy looks; thy languishd graceTo me, that feel the like, thy state descries.Then, evn of fellowship, O Moon, tell me,Is constant love deemd there but want of wit?Are beauties there as proud as here they be?Do they above love to be lovd, and yetThose lovers scorn whom that love doth possess?

Do they call virtue there ungratefulness?

Sonetul XXXI

Eti trist, lun, i precum un furSui treptele cerescului lca.

Ai crede c prdalnicul arcaSgeile-i trimite i-n azur!Surat, dac ochii ce-s depriniCu dragostea o pot i judeca,Tu-i nelegi pe cei n mreje prini;Blajin mil-i n privirea ta.Statornicia fa de iubiteE i la voi o fapt de ntng?Frumoasele-s la fel de-nchipuite?Le place-a fi curtate dar l plngPe-acel care iubete ca nebun?Virtuii nerecunotin-i spun?

Notes:

wan: paledecries: describesdeemd: consideredwant of wit: lack of intelligence

Edmund Spenser (1552-1599)Amoretti and Epithalamion

Sonnet LXXV

One day I wrote her name upon the strand,But came the waves and washed it away:Again I wrote it with a second hand,But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.Vain man, said she, that dost in vain assay,A mortal thing so to immortalize;For I myself shall like to this decay,And eke my name be wiped out likewise.Not so, (quod I) let baser things deviseTo die in dust, but you shall live by fame:

My verse your vertues rare shall eternize,And in the heavens write your glorious name:Where whenas death shall all the world subdue,Our love shall live, and later life renew.

Sonetul LXXV

I-am scris alesei numele-n nisip,Dar valul nvlind, l-a ters pe dat:i iar l-am scris, ntru acelai chip,Dar marea i-a fcut din truda-mi prad.Copile, spuse ea, ce-ncerci n vanS-nveniceti un lucru pieritor,Eu nsmi va la fel s m destram,La fel s-o terge numele-mi uor.

Nu, nu! strigai, ce-i calp n rn moar,Ci tu prin har vei dinui n lume;

Voi nemuri n vers fptura-i rar,i-n cer voi dltui cerescu-i nume.-acolo, cnd peri-va lumea toatTri-vom cu iubire-mprosptat.

Notes

strand: beachassay: tryeke: alsoquod: said

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William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

Sonnet XVIII

Shall I compare thee to a summers day?Thou art more lovely and more temperate:Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,And summers lease hath all too short a date:Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,And often is his gold complexion dimmed,

And every fair from fair sometime declines,By chance, or natures changing course untrimmed:But thy eternal summer shall not fade,Nor lose possession of that fair thou owst,Nor shall death brag thou wandrest in his shade,When in eternal lines to time thou growst,So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Sonetul XVIII

Cu-o zi a verii poate s te semui?Tu eti mai plin de farmec i mai blnd!Un vnt doboar creanga i blestemu-ic frunza verii moare prea curnd.Ades e ochiul cerului fierbintei aur l precede-ntunecat

precum frumosul din frumos descindesub cerul simplei firi, netulburat.Dar vara ta etern nu pletei n-ai s pierzi ce astzi stpnetin umbra morii n-ai s plimbi caletecnd ntr-un vers etern i-e dat s creti.

Ct oamenii privesc i ct respirtrieti i n cntu-nchis n lir.

Sonnet LX

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,So do our minutes hasten to their end,Each changing place with that which goes before,

In sequent toil all forwards do contend.Nativity once in the main of light,Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned,Crooked eclipses gainst his glory fight,And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound.Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,And delves the parallels in beautys brow,Feeds on the rarities of natures truth,And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.And yet to times in hope, my verse shall standPraising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

Sonetul LX

Cum valurile cresc peste prundiuriminute curg spre moartea-n zbor nebun,locul i-l las fr ocoliuri

celor din urm, care le rpun.Te nati ntr-a oceanului splendoare,prin vrste curgi dar Timpul i-a sortiteclipse, lupte lae i surparedevlmind tot ce i-a druit.Tot ce-i vigoare Timpul ncovoaie,fruntea i-o taie cu ncreituricu-averi se-ndoap, viaa o despoaieiar coasa lung n-ai cum s i-o furi.

Doar versul meu prin vremi se mai aude,slvindu-te n ciuda minii crude...

Sonnet CXXX

My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun,Coral is far more red, than her lips red,If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun:If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head:I have seen roses damasked, red and white,But no such roses see I in her cheeks,And in some perfumes is there more delight,Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,That music hath a far more pleasing sound:I grant I never saw a goddess go,My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.And yet by heaven I think my love as rare,

As any she belied with false compare.

Sonetul CXXX

Nu-s sori, ochii iubitei, nu scnteieroia-i gur ca mrgeanu-n mride-i alb neaua, snul ei de ce eposomort i-i noapte al ei pr?tiu, din Damasc, albe i roii rozecu care chipul nu-i e logodit.Miresme tiu, strnind apoteozestrine de al doamnei duh smerit.mi place s-o ascult dei-i mai scumpauzului, o muzic,-i tiut,nu le-am vzut zeiele cum umbldar ea, mergnd, pete doar, pe lut.

i totui, jur pe cer, fptura-i rar

cu nimeni i nimic nu se compar...Sonnet CLII

In loving thee thou knowst I am forsworn,But thou art twice forsworn to me love swearing,In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn,In vowing new hate after new love bearing:But why of two oaths breach do I accuse thee,When I break twenty? I am perjured most,For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee:And all my honest faith in thee is lost.For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness:Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy,And to enlighten thee gave eyes to blindness,

Or made them swear against the thing they see.For I have sworn thee fair: more perjured I,To swear against the truth so foul a lie.

Sonetul CLII

Iubindu-te eu mint; de-i vine rndulde dou ori s mini i amndouminciunile i spurc legmntuldin aternut. Iubeti cu ur nou.Dar ce sunt dou jurminte ruptecnd eu calc douzeci? Eu sunt sperjurulcare din tine-ncearc s se-nfrupte,sunt umbra care-i siluie conturul.i e pierdut gndul credinii-n tinecci eu, jurnd pe dulcea-i buntate,pleoapa nu mi-am lsat s se-nlumine

la focul tu cel cast i-aa sunt poatePe veci, cel care minte, duh bolnavjurnd numai pe tot ce e scrnav!