A few days ago I shared a sonnet by one of my favourite poets, the amazing and extraordinary Sir Thomas Wyatt. He translated a sonnet from Petrarch using travelling across the sea as a metaphor for despair, but did more than translate it, he interpreted it in the most beautiful way. Here is another sonnet, not about the sea, but about mountains. Thomas takes this poem from the Italian poet, humanist and writer of epigrams, Jacopo Sannazano of Naples, but Thomas produces his own wonderful interpretation
Like to these immeasurable mountains
Is my painful life, the burden of ire:
For of great height be they and high is my desire,
And I of tears and they be full of fountains.
Under craggy rocks they have full barren plains;
Hard thoughts in me my woeful mind doth tire.
Small fruit and many leaves their tops do attire;
Small effect with great trust in me remains.
The boist’rous winds oft their high boughs do blast;
Hot sighs from me continually be shed.
Cattle in them and in me love is fed.
Immovable am I and they are full steadfast.
Of the restless birds they have the tune and note,
And I always plaints that pass thorough my throat.
Lois Elsden 