Queen Elizabeth I, a poet?
I'll read anything about the Tudors that I can get my hands on. All that love and courage, betrayal, and beheading. Love it.
Last night, after everyone was in bed, I did what I sometimes like to do. Hop on the computer. Shocking, I know.
After coming across the poet, Giuseppe Ungaretti at Willow Manor awhile back, I made a note to find more of his work online. So last night, that's just what I did. Little did I know, I'd stumble upon this loveliness...
Imagine my surprise.
On Monsieur's Departure
I grieve and dare not show my discontent,
I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
I seem stark mute but inwardly to prate.
I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned.
Since from myself another self I turned.
My care is like my shadow in the sun,
Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it,
Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done.
His too familiar care doth make me rue it.
No means I find to rid him from my breast,
Till by the end of things it be supprest.
Some gentler passion slide into my mind,
For I am soft and made of melting snow;
Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind.
Let me or float or sink, be high or low.
Or let me live with some more sweet content,
Or die and so forget what love ere meant.
Beautiful, isn't it?