Sonnet No. Eleven Louise Labe

Oh, the soft glances, O eyes full of grace, Little gardens, full of loving flowers Where Love's sharp arrows come in showers Arresting my eye when I see your face. Oh, criminal heart, O cruel, unrelenting How much you hold me in your harshest fashion How much have I shed these tears with passion Feeling the ardour which my heart is tormenting. And yet my eyes with an abundance of pleasures Receives such joy from your eyes and gestures But you, my heart, the more your joy is alert, The more you languish, the more you worry Or guess that even if I too am happy You feel the conflict of my eye and heart.