A (mostly) unrhymed sonnet framing the Renaissance mentality of blaming the god of love for one's poisonous infatuation.
whoever wants to see how a little god surmounts me
how he assails me how he makes himself victor
how he re-flames then again freezes my heart
how he makes himself an honor of my shame
whoever wants to see a youth prompt
to follow in vain the object of his pain
come read me/ you will see my misfortune
of which my goddess and my god take no heed
you will know that love is without reason
a sweet abuse and a beautiful prison
a vain hope that comes to feed us on breeze
and you will know that a man deceives himself
when full of error a blind man receives
for his guide a child as his Master
A Pseudo-translation and re-working of several of the sonnets of Pierre Ronsard and Garcilaso de la Vega, into my own English-language feelings.
About the Creator
Rob Angeli
sunt lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt
There are tears of things, and mortal objects touch the mind.
-Virgil Aeneid I.462
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