Luís de Camões (c. 1524–1580)

Translated by Richard Garnett

SO sweet the lyre, so musical the strain,

By which my suit, Belovëd! is expressed,

That, hearing them, no such indifferent breast

But welcomes Love and his delicious pain,

And opes to his innumerable train

Of sweet persuasions, lovely mysteries,

Brief angers, gentle reconcilements, sighs

And ardour unabash’d by proud disdain.

Yet, when I strive to sing what beauty dwells

Upon thy brow, so oft in scorn array’d,

My song upon the unworthy lips expires.

It must be loftier verse than mine that tells

Of loveliness like thine. My Muse, dismay’d,

Folds her weak wing and silently retires.