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Sonnet 52

So am I as the rich, whose blessed key,
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,
The which he will not every hour survey,
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,
Since, seldom coming in the long year set,
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,
Or captain jewels in the carcanet.
So is the time that keeps you as my chest,
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,
To make some special instant special-blest,
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride.
Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope,
Being had, to triumph, being lacked, to hope.

Sunètto 52

Só cómm’a n’òmmo ricco, che cu ‘a chiave
‘nzèrra ‘o tesóro che tène cchiù caro:
spisso visto, pare méno suave
e ‘mméce crésce ‘o sfizio sujo cchiù raro.
E ffèste ‘int’a ll’anno nun só scialóse,
só cchiù ‘mpurtante e a gènte nun se stracca,
stanno arrasso cómm’e prete prezzióse
o giòje ‘e cunto dint’a na cannacca.
Te tène accussì ‘o tiémpo cómm’ô sgrigno
o ô stipo chino ‘e vèste assaje custóse
e fa prezziuso ll’àttemo benigno
che arrepróje ‘o sbrennóre tujo annascuso.
Duje duóne m’òffre ‘a fiura tòja divina:
sunnarte arrasso, gustarte vicina.
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