Lost Love
Translated by Philip Styrt from Clément Marot
Love and Death each me profanes:
For Love has tangled me in chains
And Death (to make my pain hurt more)
Removed the one that I looked for,
Who, being near, my heart distrains.
Oh Love, the subject of these strains
In youth served you in your campaigns;
But, you ingrate, I deplore
How you allow the pride of War
To kill your ever-loyal swains.
Perhaps I ought to count my gains:
The grave that covers his remains
Was dug upon a distant shore;
For if I saw his tomb, I’m sure
My sorrow would undo my brains.
ABOUT THE CREATOR
Philip Styrt lives in Davenport, Iowa, USA with his wife, toddler, and toothless dog. His poetry focuses on traditional forms with modern flair, and has been published in the Eastern Iowa Review, Coffee People Zine, and Quercus, among others. He teaches literature at St. Ambrose University and in his spare time, he blogs about sonnets at 140syllables.blogspot.com. @pstyrt on Twitter, @comfect on Instagram.