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Preface | |
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The Long Beginning (1475-1532) | |
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A man who's happy many a year, one hour | |
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Brow burning, in cool gloom, as sundown shears | |
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I was happy, with fate favoring, to abide | |
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How joyfully it shows, the garland there | |
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A goiter it seems I got from this backward craning | |
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If any of those old proverbs, lord, make sense | |
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Who's this that draws me forcibly to you? | |
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O God, O God, O God, how can I be | |
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He Who made all there is, made every part | |
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Chalices hammered into sword and helmet! | |
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How much less torment to breathe out my soul | |
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How could I, since it's so | |
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Fame keeps the epitaphs where they lie | |
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The Day and the Night speak | |
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Seeing I'm yours, I rouse me from afar | |
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From one all loveliness and all allure | |
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Rancorous heart, cruel, pitiless, through showing | |
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Though shouldered from the road I chose When young | |
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Fine lass or lady, they | |
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Sweeter your face than grapes are, stewed to mush | |
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Once born, death's our destination | |
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What's to become of me? What's this you're doing | |
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I was, for years and years now, wounded, killed | |
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I made my eyes an entryway for poison | |
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When with a clanking chain a master locks | |
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Uproot a plant—there's no way it can seal | |
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Flee from this Love, you lovers; flee the flame! | |
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Because there's never a time I'm not enchanted | |
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All rage, all misery, all show of strength | |
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From eyes of my beloved one, come burning | |
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Love in your eyes? no; life and death are there | |
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I live for sinning, for the self that dies | |
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Were it true that, besides my own, another's arms | |
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Where my love lives is nowhere in my heart | |
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The eyelid, shadowing, doesn't interfere | |
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My lover stole my heart, just over there | |
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In me there's only death; my life's in you | |
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He who beguiles both time and death together | |
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For a would from the searing arrows Love lets fly | |
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WHen blithely Love would lift me up to heaven | |
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O noble soul, in whom, as mirrored, show | |
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Pray tell me, Love, if what my eyes can see | |
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My reason, out of sorts with me, deplores | |
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When to that beauty that I saw before | |
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It well may be, so vehement my sighing | |
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If my rough hammer shapes the obdurate stone | |
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When the occasioner of many a sigh | |
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Just as a flame, by wind and weather flailed | |
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Your beauty, Love, stuns mortal reckonings | |
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What's to become of her, long years from now | |
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Alas! Alas! for the way I've been betrayed | |
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Were one allowed to kill himself right here | |
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Who rides by night on horseback, come the day | |
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I do believe, if you were made of stone | |
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Though quite expensive, look, I've bought you this | |
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My death is what I love on; seems to me | |
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If I'm more alive because love burns and chars me | |
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Three Loves (1532-1547) | |
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If longings for the immortal, which exalt | |
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If pure devotion, passion without stain | |
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You know, my lord, that I too know you know | |
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If, when it caught my eye first, I'd been bolder | |
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Only with fire can men at forge and flue | |
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So fond is fire of the frigid stone it waits | |
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If fire can melt down steel and shatter flint | |
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Just when I'm lost in adoration of you | |
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Maybe, so I'd look kindly on souls in need | |
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A new and more commendable delight | |
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Then there's this giant—tall! So tall he can't | |
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Nature knows what it's doing: one cruel as you | |
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O cruel star, or say instead, cruel will | |
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I have your letter, thank you, as received | |
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If, through our eyes, the heart's seen in the face | |
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Now that I'm banned and routed from the fire | |
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I weep, I burn—burn up!—my heart thereby | |
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Too much! the way he flaunts himself around | |
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Whether or not the light I long for, sent | |
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Supposing the passionate fire your eyes enkindle | |
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From grie | |