T. Wyatt, H. Surrey, E.
Spenser – the early sonneteers and Petrarca’s Canzoniere*
PETRARCA 134
I find no peace, and yet I am not warlike;
I fear and hope, I burn and turn to ice;
I fly beyond the sky, stretch out on earth;
my hands are empty, yet I hold the world.
One holds me prisoner, not locked up, not free;
won’t keep me for her own but won’t release me;
love does not kill me, does not loose my chains,
he’d like me dead, he’d like me still ensnared.
I see without my eyes, cry with no tongue,
I want to die and yet I call for help,
hating myself but loving someone else.
I feed on pain, I laugh while shedding tears,
both death and life displease me equally;
and this state, Lady, is because of you.
Pace non trovo e non ho da far guerra
e temo, e spero; e ardo e sono un ghiaccio;
e volo sopra 'l cielo, e giaccio in terra;
e nulla stringo, e tutto il mondo abbraccio.
Tal m'ha in pregion, che non m'apre nè sera,
nè per suo mi riten nè scioglie il laccio;
e non m'ancide Amore, e non mi sferra,
nè mi vuol vivo, nè mi trae d'impaccio.
Veggio senz'occhi, e non ho lingua, e grido;
e bramo di perire, e chieggio aita;
e ho in odio me stesso, e amo altrui.
Pascomi di dolor, piangendo rido;
egualmente mi spiace morte e vita:
in questo stato son, donna, per voi.
PETRARCA 140
Love that lives and reigns in all my thoughts
will sometimes fly, while looking for the light,
right into someone’s eyes, in its desire,
whereby it kills itself and causes pain:
so I run always toward my fated sun,
her eyes, from which such sweetness comes to me,
since Love cares nothing for the curb of reason
and judgement is quite vanquished by desire.
And I can see quite well how they avoid me,
and I well know that I will die from this,
because my strength cannot withstand the pain;
but oh, how sweetly Love does dazzle me
so that I wail some other’s pain, not mine,
and my blind soul consents to her own death.
WYATT
The long love that in my thought doth harbor,
And in mine heart doth keep his residence,
Into my face presseth with bold pretense
And therein campeth, spreading his banner.
She that me learneth to love and suffer
And will that my trust and lust's negligence
Be reined by reason, shame, and reverence,
With his hardiness taketh displeasure.
Wherewithal unto the heart's forest he fleeth,
Leaving his enterprise with pain and cry,
And there him hideth, and not appeareth.
What may I do, when my master feareth,
But in the field with him to live and die?
For good is the life ending faithfully.
WYATT
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 loseth nor locketh 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.
Amor che nel pensier mio vive e regna
e ‘l suo seggio maggior nel mio cor tene,
talora armato nella fronte vène,
ivi si loca, et ivi pon sua insegna.
Quella ch’amare et sofferir ne ‘nsegna
e vòl che il gran desio, l’accesa spene,
ragion, vergogna e reverenza affrene,
di nostro ardir fra se stessa si sdegna.
Onde Amor paventoso fugge al core,
lasciando ogni sua impresa, et piange, e trema;
ivi s’asconde, et non appar più fore.
Che poss’io far, temendo il mio signore,
se non star seco infin a l’ora estrema?
Ché bel fin fa chi ben amando more.
SURREY
Love, that doth reign and live within my thought,
And built his seat within my captive breast,
Clad in arms wherein with me he fought,
Oft in my face he doth his banner rest.
But she that taught me love and suffer pain,
My doubtful hope and eke my hot desire
With shamefast look to shadow and refrain,
Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire.
And coward Love then to the heart apace
Taketh his flight, where he doth lurk and 'plain,
His purpose lost, and dare not show his face.
For my lord's guilt thus faultless bide I pain,
Yet from my lord shall not my foot remove,
Sweet is the death that taketh end by love.
PETRARCA 164
Now that the heavens, earth, and winds are silent,
and sleep restrains the birds and wild beasts,
night drives her starry chariot overhead,
and in its heavy bed the sea lies waveless.
I am awake; I burn, think, weep; and she,
sweet pain who ruins me, is always there
before my eyes; I am at war, I’m wounded;
thinking of her is all the help I get.
Thus from one clear and living fountain
come both the sweet and bitter in my life;
one single hand can pierce me and then heal me,
and since my suffering has no end in sight,
I die a thousand times a day and then
I am reborn, still distant from true health.
SURREY
Or che ‘l ciel e la terra e ‘l vento tace Alas! so all things now do hold their peace,
e le fere e gli augelli il sonno affrena, Heaven and earth disturbèd in no thing;
Notte il carro stellato in giro mena! The beasts, the air, the birds their song do cease,
e nel suo letto il mar senz’onda giace, The nightès chare the stars about doth bring;
vegghio, penso, ardo, piango e chi mi sface Calm is the sea, the waves work less and less:
sempre m’è innanzi per mia dolce pena; So am not I, whom love, alas, doth wring,
guerra è il mio stato, d’ira e di duol piena, Bringing before my face the great increase
e sol di lei pensando ho qualche pace. Of my desires, whereat I weep and sing,
Così sol d’una chiara fonte viva ! In joy and woe, as in a doubtful ease:
move il dolce e l’amaro ond’io mi pasco; For my sweet thoughts sometime do pleasure bring,
una man sola mi risana e punge. But by and by, the cause of my disease
E perché il mio martir non giunga a riva, Gives me a pang that inwardly doth sting,
mille volte il dì moro e mille nasco, When that I think what grief it is again
tanto dalla salute mia son lunge. To live and lack the thing should rid my pain.

PETRARCA 189
My galley loaded with forgetfulness,
rolls through rough seas, at midnight, during winter,
aiming between Charybdis and sharp Scylla;
my lord, ah no, my foe, sits at the tiller;
each oar is wielded by a quick, mad thought
that seems to scorn the storm and what it means;
and endless wind of moisture, of deep sighs,
of hopes and passions, rips the sail in half;
tears in a steady downpour, mists of hate,
are loosening and soaking all the ropes,
ropes made of ignorance, tangled up with error.
The two sweet stars I stir by are obscured;
reason and skill are dead amid the waves;
and I don’t think I’ll ever see the port.
WYATT
Passa la nave mia colma d'oblio My galley charged with forgetfulness
per aspro mare, a mezza notte, il verno, Thorough sharp seas, in winter nights doth pass
enfra Scilla e Cariddi; ed al governo 'Tween rock and rock; and eke mine enemy, alas,
siede'l signore, anzi'l nimico mio; That is my lord, steereth with cruelness;
a ciascun remo un penser pronto e rio And every oar a thought in readiness,
che la tempesta e'l fin par ch'abbi a scherno; As though that death were light in such a case.
la vela rompe un vento umido, eterno An endless wind doth tear the sail apace
di sospir', di speranze e di desio; Of forcèd sighs and trusty fearfulness.
pioggia di lagrimar, nebbia di sdegni A rain of tears, a cloud of dark disdain,
bagna e rallenta le già stanche sarte, Hath done the wearied cords great hinderance;
che son d'error con ignoranza attorto. Wreathed with error and eke with ignorance.
Celansi i duo mei dolci usati segni; The stars be hid that led me to this pain.
morta fra l'onde è la ragion e l'arte: Drowned is reason that should me consort,
tal ch'incomincio a desperar del porto. And I remain despairing of the port.

PETRARCA 190
A white doe on green grass appeared to me;
she had gold horns and stood between two rivers,
beneath a laurel, in a place I knew,
at dawn and in a season still unripe.
Her look was sweet and proud, so that I left
all other tasks to follow her, just like
a miser seeking out a treasure, who
sweetens the pain of labour with delight.
Around her lovely neck: “Let no one touch me,”
the words spelled out in diamonds and topaz.
“It pleased my Caesar to create me free.”
Already it was noon. My eyes were weary
but hadn’t gazed their fill when suddenly
I fell into the water and she vanished.
Una candida cerva sopra l’erba
verde m’appare, con duo corna d’oro,
fra due riviere, all’ombra di un alloro,
levando ‘l sole a la stagione acerba.
Era sua vista sì dolce superba,
ch’i’ lasciai per seguirla ogni lavoro:
come l’avaro che ‘n cercar Tesoro
con diletto l’affanno disacerba.
«Noli mi tangere» – al bel collo d’intorno
scritto avea di diamanti et di topazi –:
«libera a farmi al mio Cesare parve».
Et era già ‘l sol vòlto al mezzo giorno,
gli occhi miei stanchi di mirar, non sazi,
quand’io caddi ne l’acqua, et ella sparve.
PETRARCA 310
Now Zephyrus returns, bringing fine weather
and his sweet family of grass and flowers,
chattering Procne, weeping Philomena,
and Spring, decked out in white and in vermilion;
the meadows laugh, the sky grows clear again,
great Jove delights in looking at his daughter,
the earth and air and water fill with love,
and every animal obeys love’s call.
To me, alas, the sighs that come are heavy;
she draws them upward from my deepest heart
she who has carried off its keys to heaven,
and all the birdsongs, all the flowery meadows,
the soft and gentle gestures of fair ladies,
are like a wilderness of savage beasts.
Zefiro torna, e 'l bel tempo rimena,
e i fiori e l'erbe, sua dolce famiglia,
et garrir Progne et pianger Filomena,
e primavera candida e vermiglia.
Ridono i prati, e 'l ciel si rasserena;
Giove s'allegra di mirar sua figlia;
l'aria e l'acqua e la terra è d'amor piena;
ogni animal d'amar si riconsiglia.
Ma per me, lasso, tornano i più gravi
sospiri, che del cor profondo tragge
quella ch'al ciel se ne portò le chiavi;
e cantar augelletti, e fiorir piagge,
e 'n belle donne oneste atti soavi
sono un deserto, e fere aspre e selvagge.
* Tr. from Petrarch by David Young, The Poetry of Petrarch (2005)
WYATT
Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, alas, I may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that farthest cometh behind.
Yet may I, by no means, my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore,
Fainting I follow. I leave off, therefore,
Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I, may spend his time in vain.
And graven with diamonds in letters plain
There is written, her fair neck round about,
"Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame."
SPENSER (Amoretti LXVII)
Like as a huntsman after weary chace,
Seeing the game from him escap'd away,
Sits down to rest him in some shady place,
With panting hounds beguiled of their prey:
So after long pursuit and vain assay,
When I all weary had the chace forsook,
The gentle deer return'd the self-same way,
Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook.
There she beholding me with milder look,
Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide:
Till I in hand her yet half trembling took,
And with her own goodwill her firmly tied.
Strange thing, me seem'd, to see a beast so wild,
So goodly won, with her own will beguil'd.
SURREY
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 cote he flings;
The fishes float with new repaired scale;
The adder all her slough away she slings;
The swift swallow pursueth the flies small;
The busy bee her honey now she mings.
Winter is worn, that was the flowers bale.
And thus I see among these pleasant things,
Eche care decays, and yet my sorrow springs.