Dear Tagus, what immeasurable space
Our present from our former lot divides!
Glassy of yore, now turbid are thy tides,
Once smiles my brow adorned, now tears deface.
Thy change is work of tempests, whose descent
Robs thy clear current of its silvery sheen,
Mine of the brilliant eyes and sovran mien
That portion me my bliss or discontent.
As we are thus participant in woe,
Would we were so in all things; and, as pain,
So simultaneous joy might feel! But no!
Flower-fostering Spring shall look and see no stain
In thy clear mirror; but I cannot know
If my lost bliss will ever come again.
Our present from our former lot divides!
Glassy of yore, now turbid are thy tides,
Once smiles my brow adorned, now tears deface.
Thy change is work of tempests, whose descent
Robs thy clear current of its silvery sheen,
Mine of the brilliant eyes and sovran mien
That portion me my bliss or discontent.
As we are thus participant in woe,
Would we were so in all things; and, as pain,
So simultaneous joy might feel! But no!
Flower-fostering Spring shall look and see no stain
In thy clear mirror; but I cannot know
If my lost bliss will ever come again.
Rodriguez Lobo (1580 - 1622) Portugal
Translated by Richard Garnett
Source: The Sonnets of Europe, ed. by Samuel Waddington. London: Walter Scott, 1888
Source: The Sonnets of Europe, ed. by Samuel Waddington. London: Walter Scott, 1888
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