Sonnet XLVI
[Pg 61]
SONNET XLVI.
L' arbor gentil che forte amai molt' anni.
IMPRECATION AGAINST THE LAUREL.
The graceful tree I loved so long and well,Ere its fair boughs in scorn my flame declined,Beneath its shade encouraged my poor mindTo bud and bloom, and 'mid its sorrow swell.But now, my heart secure from such a spell,Alas, from friendly it has grown unkind!My thoughts entirely to one end confined,Their painful sufferings how I still may tell.What should he say, the sighing slave of love,To whom my later rhymes gave hope of bliss,Who for that laurel has lost all—but this?May poet never pluck thee more, nor JoveExempt; but may the sun still hold in hateOn each green leaf till blight and blackness wait.
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