Monday, September 08, 2008

Francisco DeLaTorre - Sonnet

Bella es mi Ninfa, si los lazos de oro al apacible viento desordena; bella, si de sus ojos enajena el altivo desdén, que siempre lloro.

Bella, si con la luz que sola adoro la tempestad del viento y mar serena; bella, si a la dureza de mi pena vuelue las gracias del celeste coro.

Bella si mansa, bella si terrible; bella si cruda, bella esquiva, y bella si vuelue grave aquella luz del cielo,

cuya beldad humana y apacible ni si puede saber lo que es sin vella, ni vista entenderá lo que es el suelo.

My nymph is lovely, if with golden hair, she brings disorder to the placid wind; lovely, if with her eyes she can convey haughty disdain, which I forever mourn.

Lovely, if with the one light I adore she calms the tempest of the wind and sea; lovely, if the harshness of my grief into celestial music she transforms.

Lovely if tame, lovely if she is rude; lovely if cruel, and coy, and lovely too if she turns dark the light from heaven's sky,

whose placid and so human loveliness one cannot know without seeing her first, nor, once seen, can by earth be satisfied.

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