Learn More

Louise Labe

(1524 - 1566 / France)

Sonnet XIV


While I have tears that start into my eyes,
At memories of joys that we have known
And while my voice, still master of its own,
Is not yet choked with sobbing and with sighs.

While still my hand has cunning to devise,
A lover's cadence to the lute's soft tone
And while in understanding you alone,
I no more wisdom need to make me wise.

How could I want, as yet, that I were dead ?
And when these eyes have no more tears to shed,
My voice is hoarse and my hands lost their art.

When no longer can my tormented heart
Declare itself in love, then I will pray
For Death to blacken out my brightest day.

Submitted: Thursday, November 08, 2012

Do you like this poem?
2 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Sonnet XIV by Louise Labe )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Trending Poets

Trending Poems

  1. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  2. Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
  3. Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
  4. Television, Roald Dahl
  5. Christmas Trees, Robert Frost
  6. Invictus, William Ernest Henley
  7. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
  8. If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
  9. The Gift, Li-Young Lee
  10. Fire and Ice, Robert Frost

Poem of the Day

poet James Whitcomb Riley

There! little girl; don't cry!
They have broken your doll, I know;
And your tea-set blue,
And your play-house, too,
Are things of the long ago;
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]