Never was Ulysses, or any other,
more struck by so divine an aspect,
so full of grace, honour and respect,
apart from which I endlessly suffer.
Yes, Love, your eyes, in all their beauty,
have so pierced my innocent heart,
warmed and nourished by your art,
that, without you, there’s no remedy.
O, harsh fate that renders me as one
stung by the Scorpion, and seeking
an antidote to that creature’s venom,
I ask, merely, that you ease each breath,
not quench what’s dear to me, this longing,
the lack of which would see my death.
Louise Charlin Perrin Labé [La Belle Cordière] ( c. 1524 – 1566) France
Translated by A. S. Kline
Source: Poetry in Translation
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