Sonnet
FROM THE SPANISH OF GARCILASO DE LA VEGA.
As when the mother, weak in tenderness,
Hears her sick child with prayers and tears implore
Some seeming good, that makes his pain the less,
Yet, with short ease! the future evil more;
Even as her fondness yields to his vain will
She hastes to gratify her sickly son —
Anticipating then the coming ill,
Sadly she sits, and weeps what she has done.
Thus have I pamper'd my distemper'd mind;
And yielded thus to Fancy's wayward mood.
Poor dupe of Fancy! self-condemn'd to find
The future anguish in the present good. —
Thus do I waste a wretched life away,
And nightly weep the errors of the day.
As when the mother, weak in tenderness,
Hears her sick child with prayers and tears implore
Some seeming good, that makes his pain the less,
Yet, with short ease! the future evil more;
Even as her fondness yields to his vain will
She hastes to gratify her sickly son —
Anticipating then the coming ill,
Sadly she sits, and weeps what she has done.
Thus have I pamper'd my distemper'd mind;
And yielded thus to Fancy's wayward mood.
Poor dupe of Fancy! self-condemn'd to find
The future anguish in the present good. —
Thus do I waste a wretched life away,
And nightly weep the errors of the day.
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