A Canto a Day 7 Edmund Spenser again

Amoretti 78, 1595

Lackyng my love I go from place to place,
lyke a young fawne that late hath lost the hynd:
and seeke each where, where last I sawe her face,
whose ymage yet I carry fresh in mynd.
I seeke the fields with her late footing synd,
I seeke her bowre with her late presence deckt,
yet nor in field nor bowre I her can fynd:
yet field and bowre are full of her aspect,
But when myne eyes I thereunto direct,
they ydly back returne to me agayne,
and when I hope to see theyr trew obiecct,
I fynd my selfe but fed with fancies vayne.
Ceasse then myne eyes, to seeke her selfe to see,
and let my thoughts behold her selfe in mee.

Fawns and hinds again but this time the poet casts himself in the role of lost fawn and his beloved as his lost mother. Nothing weird about that at all. The heavy repetition is also remarkable and highlights the artifice of the poem. The transformation of real events into literature finds a new form here: the loved one disappears and is re-embodied in the change she has brought about in the lover.

A Canto a Day 6: Samuel Daniel

Samuel Daniel: Delia 38 (1592)

When men shall find thy flower, thy glory pass,
And thou with careful brow sitting alone
Receiv'd hast this message from thy glass,
That tells the truth, and says that all is gone;
Fresh shalt thou see in me the wounds thou madest
Though spent thy flame, in me the heat remaining:
I that hath lov'd thee thus before thou fadest,
My faith shall waxe, while thou art in thy waning.
The world shall find this miracle in me,
That fire can burn, when all the matter's spent:
Then what my faith hath been thy self shalt see,
And that thou was unkind thou mayst repent.
Thou mayst repent that thou hast scorn'd my tears,
When winter snows upon thy golden hairs.

I had never heard of Samuel Daniel before. This sonnet is so Shakepearian in themes and diction that it's surprising to find that it predates the better known - and obviously better - works. The editors of The Art of the Sonnet are kind to this poem, finding more subtlety in it that I do. They argue that the poem ends in kindness towards the ungrateful beloved, and so rises above the more usual game of blame and defensiveness. I'm not convinced.

A Canto a Day 5 Spenser: Ruines of Rome

Thou stranger, which for Rome in Rome here seekest,
And nought of Rome in Rome perceiv'st at all,
These same olde walls, olde arches, which thou seest,
Olde Palaces, is that which Rome men call.
Behold what wreake, what ruine and what wast,
And how that she, which with her mightie powre
Tam'd all the world, hath tam'd herself at last,
The pray of time, which all things doth devoure.
Rome now of Rome is th'onely funerall,
And only Rome of Rome hath victorie;
Ne ought save Tyber hastning to his fall
Remaines of alll: O world's inconstancie.
That which is firme doth flit and fall away,
And that is flitting, doth abide and stay.

This is a translation by Edmund Spenser of poem 3 of Les Antiquitez by Joachim Du Bellay, and one of the best translations of anything there's ever been, I would say.

There's little to be said about it: the intent and structure of the poem go together so well, and although the theme of impermanence is familiar it's never been quite so well expressed. Well done, Mr Spenser. 

Nouveau venu qui cherches Rome en Rome
Et rien de Rome en Rome n’apperçois,
Ces vieux palais, ces vieux arcs que tu vois,
Et ces vieux murs, c’est ce que Rome on nomme.
Voy quel orgueil, quelle ruine, et comme
Celle qui mist le monde sous ses lois
Pour donter tout, se donta quelquefois,
Et devint proye au temps qui tout consomme.
Rome de Rome est le seul monument,
Et Rome Rome a vaincu seulement.
Le Tybre seul, qui vers la mer s’enfuit,
Reste de Rome, ô mondaine inconstance !
Ce qui est ferme est par le temps destruit,
Et ce qui fuit, au temps fait resistance.

A Canto a Day 4 Sidney

Astrophel and Stella 45

Stella oft sees the very face of woe
Painted in my beclouded stormy face,
But cannot skill to pity my disgrace,
Not though thereof the herself she know.
Yet hearing late a fable, which did show
Of lovers never known, a grievous case,
Pity thereof gate in her breast such place,
That from that sea deriv'd tears' spring did flow.
Alas, if Fancy, drawn by imag'd things
Though false, yet with free scope, more grace doth breed
Than servant's wrack, where new doubts honour brings,
Then think, my dear, that you in me do read
Of lover's ruin some sad tragedy:
I am not I: pity the tale of me.  

One thing that seems to come up a lot in sonnets is a comparison between love lived and love in literature. In this sonnet, Stella is able to respond to the sufferings of (at a guess) Paolo and Francesca in Dante's Inferno, but can't be moved by the suffering evident in Astrophel's face. It's an accusation, of course, and that "my dear" in line 12 sounds as patronising as it would today. The shortness of the last two lines suggests a sulk. 

I don't have any evidence to support the Paolo and Francesca link but it's very tempting. It's a double reference because they were also affected by reading literature: in their case the story of Lancelot and Guinevere. But in their case, the story acted as an aphrodisiac. Maybe Astrophel is peeved and frustrated that whereas Francesca was softened in the physical world of their relationship, Stella's reaction is spiritual, not bodily. He's spared the second circle of hell but that's not on his mind just now.

We'll come back to this, I'm sure: the notion that the real flesh and blood lover doesn't - can't - match the fictional lover in the sonnet itself or in some external work, and this may be a cause for sadness or anger.