Sonnet III

Amidst the arms, war, fire, fury and rage
which have the haughty Frenchman so oppressed,
and when the air is most confused and thick,
there by love's fiercest fires am I enclosed.
I look up at the sky, the trees, the flowers,
and in them find my suffering expressed;
for on the coldest, most inclement day
sprout fresh and turn to green again my woes.
I say aloud, in tears: "Oh springtime sweet,
when will it be that I might see my hope,
all green, some real peace in my soul inspire?"
But I fear that my cruel fate my death
will mandate when I'm so far from my love,
Amidst the war, rage, fury, arms, and fire.

Gutierre de Cetina (1519-1554)
┬ęDavid Hildner, 2000

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