Inconstancy

Sooner one will bag the wind, sooner one will place
Into his pocket tiny pieces of sunrays,
Sooner the blustering sea by threats he will calm,
Sooner he'll grasp the enormous world in his palm ,
Sooner without harm he'll put out fire with his fist,
Sooner he will capture in the net cloudy mist,
Sooner, while crying, he will flood Etna with tear,
Sooner the mute will sing, and one with insane fears
Speak wisely; sooner Fortune will show the same face
And death and laughter will live in one dwelling place,
Sooner the poet and vain dream tell a true tale,
Sooner tears will not be fruitful for the angel,
Sooner the sun will hide in a cave for the night,
Peace will be in prison, men in desert abide,
Sooner all reason will perish and words will flee,
Than any fair lady will ever constant be.

The Fair Sex

A crocodile is bad, it deludes by crying,
A siren is bad, for her voice is beguiling,
A serpent is bad, concealed deep in grass, it stings,
Spring water is bad, though dazzling, a goiter brings:
Yet the fair sex brings about much more casualty:
With crying and voice, secretiveness and beauty.

On His Young Lady

White is the polished Carrara alabaster,
White is the milk sent from sheepfolds in a pannier,
White is the swan, with its white feathers covered,
White is the pearl, with frequent stringing not tampered, White is the snow, that freshly fell, still untrodden,
White is the lily bloom in its freshness chosen.
But whiter still the face and neck of my lady
Than alabaster, milk, swan, pearl, snow, and lily.

To the Same Lady

Your eyes are not eyes, but suns that shine bright,
In whose glow all reason must lose its light;
Your lips are not lips, but rosy coral,
Which capture every sense by their color;
Your breasts are not breasts, but a pure design
From heaven, which our will in chains confine;
Thus the eyes, breasts, lips blind, bind, and confine
Reason, sense, will with glow, color, design.

To a Young Lady

Hard is the iron smelted with great pains,
Hard is the diamond, with no hammer stains, 
Hard is the oak with old age petrified,
Hard are the rocks, not heeding the sea tide; 
You are harder, lady, who my tears mock,
Than the iron, diamond, hard oak, and rock.

Safe Treasure

A thief will break into your Gdansk coffers,
A promised harvest will turn out much worse,
Lightning will burn down your barns and your rest,
A poor debtor won't pay cash with interest,
The ruined peasants will not pay their lease,
Grain barges will sink in a stormy breeze;
But what you have given to every friend,
Fortune won't claim - it's surely your stipend.

Inconstancy

Your eyes are fire, your brow a looking glass,
Hair - gold, teeth - pearls, skin - buttermilk surpass,
Mouth is a coral, cheeks are lavender,
While you, my young lady, with me concur.
But when we quarrel, your cheeks turn leprous,
Mouth - a pit, cheeks - pale white lead in excess
Teeth - a nag's bone, hair - web of a spider
Your brow - a mangle, eyes - ashy powder.

Bee in Amber

In most transparent amber concealed visibly,
It seems the bee is swimming in her own honey.
Treated with contempt when she lived under the skies,
Now her burial and coffin bear a higher prize.
That's how for faithful work she's been given her pay,
No doubt she herself wished to die in such a way.
Cleopatra ought not to flatter herself so,
When an insect lies in a more splendid barrow.

The Wonders of Love

Sonnet

I nourish love with worry and thinking,
Thinking with memory and covetousness,
I nourish lust with hope and comeliness,
Hope with illusion and useless straying.

I fill my heart with pride and delusion,
Pride with pretended delight and rashness,
I nurture rashness with folly and smugness,
Folly with anger and vile corruption.

I nourish worry with tears and with sighs,
The sighs with fire, fire with the wind indeed,
The wind with shadows, shadows with deceit.

Whoever heard about such enterprise,
That with this care about the others' greed,
I'm hungry myself 'midst all these supplies.

To a Corpse

Sonnet

You lie struck dead, I am struck dead the same,
You with the death bolt, I the love arrow,
You have no blood, I have no ruddy glow,
You have plain candles, I a hidden flame,

Your face is covered with a mourning shroud, 
In dreadful darkness my senses are trapped, 
Your hands are bound, while my mind has been strapped,
Deprived of freedom, in irons throughout.

But you are silent, while my tongue whimpers,
You feel nothing, I can't deep pain forgo,
You are like ice, I in hellish sunglow.

With time your body into dust scatters, 
And yet I cannot scatter in ash pyre, 
Eternal element of my own fire.

To a Butterfly

Sonnet

Carefully, butterfly! That fire is injurious!
Beware of this candle, beware of this fair face,
In whose glow gilded death secretly found its place,
Do not be for your martyrdom so covetous.

You rush to your grave and deceitful obsequies,
You draw near your own coffin and your dreams give chase,
Hoping to be set free by what sets you ablaze.
Ah! You have now lost your life, lover so hapless!

And yet you are fortunate that with an embrace,
After experiencing the desired pleasure,
You parted company with your beloved candle.

O! If I could only by the same fortune's grace
Die for the one for whom fires inside me kindle,
And yet before that have our lips come together!

Translated by Michal J. Mikos