Sonnet XXXIV
SONNET XXXIV.
Ma poi che 'l dolce riso umile e piano.
HER RETURN GLADDENS THE EARTH AND CALMS THE SKY.
But when her sweet smile, modest and benign,No longer hides from us its beauties rare,At the spent forge his stout and sinewy armsPlieth that old Sicilian smith in vain,For from the hands of Jove his bolts are takenTemper'd in Ætna to extremest proof;And his cold sister by degrees grows calmAnd genial in Apollo's kindling beams.Moves from the rosy west a summer breath,Which safe and easy wafts the seaward bark,And wakes the sweet flowers in each grassy mead.Malignant stars on every side depart,Dispersed before that bright enchanting face,For which already many tears are shed.
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