Sonnet XXXI – Les Regrets
Heureux qui, comme Ulysse, a fait un beau voyage,
Ou comme cestuy là qui conquit la toison,
Et puis est retourné, plein d’usage et raison,
Vivre entre ses parents le reste de son aage !
Quand revoiray-je, hélas, de mon petit village
Fumer la cheminée, et en quelle saison,
Revoiray-je le clos de ma pauvre maison,
Qui m’est une province, et beaucoup d’avantage ?
Plus me plaist le séjour qu’ont basty mes ayeux,
Que des palais Romains le front audacieux,
Plus que le marbre dur me plaist l’ardoise fine,
Plus mon Loyre Gaulois, que le Tybre Latin,
Plus mon petit Lyré, que le mont Palatin,
Et plus que l’air marin la doulceur Angevine.
Sonnet XXXI - Regrets
Happy, like Ulysses, the one whose journey’s done,
Or like that man of fame who gained the golden fleece
And then returned, more seasoned and more wise, to Greece
To live among his own with all his battles won!
When will I see, alas, the smoke from chimneys rise
Once more in my small village, at what time of year
I see once more the plot of my poor home so dear
That is to me a province – more, despite its size?
More pleasing is the place my ancestors have built
Than Roman palaces, their grandeur and their gilt,
More than the marble’s hardness does my fine slate please,
More than Tiber’s swift waters, my Loire calm and still,
More my Lyré so small than the Palatine Hill,
And more than strong sea-air, the Angevine soft breeze.
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