Sonnets
SONNET XXXII
TO CECCO
If Santalena does not come unto you
Down in the plow-lands where the clods are hard,
But falls into the hands of some hot clod-pole
Who’ll wear her out and hardly then return her;
Then tell me if the fruit which this land beareth
Is born of drought or heat or from the dampness,
And say what wind it is doth blight and wither
And which doth bring the tempest and the mist.
Say if it please you, when at break of morning
You hear the farmer’s workman bawling out
And all his family meddling in the noise?
Egad! I think that if your sweet Bettina
Beareth a mellow spirit in her heart
She’ll rescue you once more from your last choice.
79
