Sonnet LXI

Sweet dream it was and also sweet affliction,
when I was dreaming that it was a dream;
a sweet delight I'd take in what deceived me,
if only that deception longer seemed;
a sweet not being in myself, I saw
every good thing I'd ever want to see;
a sweet pleasure it was, though so intense
that sometimes it would just awaken me:
oh sleep, how much more gentle and delightful
you'd be if you would come so heavily
that with more calm you'd set on me your weight!
For while I slept, in short, I was in bliss,
and it is right that one be blessed in lies
who's always been in truth unfortunate.

Juan Boscan (1490 - 1542)
©Alix Ingber, 1995



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