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Louise Labe

Sonnet XI

O gentle gaze, o eyes where beauty grows,
Like little gardens full of amorous flowers,
Where the bow of Love shoots his sharp arrows
And where my eyes have gazed for many hours.

O savage cruelty, o felon heart
Binding me in so many rigorous chains,
So many are my lovesick tears and pains,
Burning is the ache of my tortured heart.

Thus you, my eyes, so much delight have had,
From looking in his eyes, so much enjoyment;
But you, my heart, the more you see them glad,

The more you languish, the worse your torment.
Then guess if there is any joy for me,
Knowing my heart and eyes thus disagree.

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Sonnet XIV

While I have tears that start into my eyes,
At memories of joys that we have known
And while my voice, still master of its own,
Is not yet choked with sobbing and with sighs.

While still my hand has cunning to devise,
A lover's cadence to the lute's soft tone
And while in understanding you alone,
I no more wisdom need to make me wise.

How could I want, as yet, that I were dead ?
And when these eyes have no more tears to shed,
My voice is hoarse and my hands lost their art.

When no longer can my tormented heart
Declare itself in love, then I will pray
For Death to blacken out my brightest day.

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Long-felt desires

Long-felt desires, hopes as long as vain -
sad sighs - slow tears accustomed to run sad
into as many rivers as two eyes could add,
pouring like fountains, endless as the rain -

cruelty beyond humanity, a pain
so hard it makes compassionate stars go mad
with pity: these are the first passions I've had.
Do you think love could root in my soul again?

If it arched the great bow back again at me,
licked me again with fire, and stabbed me deep
with the violent worst, as awful as before,

the wounds that cut me everwhere would keep
me shielded, so there would be no place free
for love. It covers me. It can pierce no more.

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