Hypocorism
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Diodati, and I tell it with surprise,
That quiet I, who Love to slight was wont
And vigor from his snares inclined to flaunt
Am fallen where mire honest men and wise.
Nor golden hair, nor cheeks of sanguine guise
Bedazle me; but from a new sprung font
A stranger's beauty fills the heart to haunt
With airs direct and high, and in such eyes
A tranquil light of amiable black,
With speech adorned with noble tongues, in tune
A voice that from its empyreal track
Could well astray entice the toilsome moon;
And from her eyes there comes so great a fire
As melts the wax from ears that binds desire.
~Sonnet 4 (from the Italian)
That quiet I, who Love to slight was wont
And vigor from his snares inclined to flaunt
Am fallen where mire honest men and wise.
Nor golden hair, nor cheeks of sanguine guise
Bedazle me; but from a new sprung font
A stranger's beauty fills the heart to haunt
With airs direct and high, and in such eyes
A tranquil light of amiable black,
With speech adorned with noble tongues, in tune
A voice that from its empyreal track
Could well astray entice the toilsome moon;
And from her eyes there comes so great a fire
As melts the wax from ears that binds desire.
~Sonnet 4 (from the Italian)