Friday 8 January 2010

A typical sonnet by Emil Aarestrup (1800-1856)



TAG DETTE KYS, OG TUSIND TIL, DU SØDE

Tag dette Kys, og Tusind til, du Søde,
Lad Øiet tale frit, Amor indskrænker
Kun Stemmens plumpe Sprog; og i hans Lænker
Er Kys, Omfavnelser ei nogen Brøde.

Jo tiere sig vore Læber møde,
Jo meer beruust paa ingenting jeg tænker.
Min Prosa jeg til Cancelliet skjænker,
Og saa kan Riim og Vers elskværdigst gløde.

Vel føler jeg, for Elskovsild tilfulde
Er Formen, skal den være reen og plastisk,
Kun den, som dine Arme aabner, Hulde.

Men for min Tænksomhed et Net jeg fletter,
For mine Viisdomssuk, et ret elastisk,
Og dog et smukt og snævert, i Sonetter.


ACCEPT THIS KISS, A THOUSAND MORE, MY TREASURE

Accept this kiss, a thousand more, my treasure,
Let eyes be darts, for Cupid muddles letters
To tongue-tie lovers’ speech, while in his fetters
Are kisses and embraces guiltless pleasure.

The more our lips fulfil their fated mission,
The more my thoughts intoxicated hover.
My prose to state officials I hand over,
So rhyme and verse can find their sweet fruition.

It’s true I feel, for passion’s flame is really
Form pure and simple, if it would be plastic,
But that, my love, which your arms open freely.

But for my thoughtfulness a net I fashion -
One for my sighs of wisdom quite elastic -
The beauteous sonnet’s fine and tight-meshed scansion.

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