Devant les yeux nuit et jour me revient
Le saint portrait de l'angelique face ;
Soit que j'ecrive, ou soit que j'entrelasse
Mes vers au luth, toujours m'en ressouvient.
Voyés, pour dieu, comme un bel œil me tient
En sa prison et point ne me délasse,
Et comme il prend mon cœur dedans sa nasse
Qui de pensée à mon dam l'entretient.
O le grand mal, quand une affection
Peint notre esprit de quelque impression !
J'entends alors que l'Amour ne dedaigne
Subtilement l'engraver de son trait ;
Toujours au cœur nous revient ce portrait,
Et maugré nous toujours nous accompagne.
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Researcher for this page: David Wyatt
This text was added to the website: 2014-10-27
Line count: 14
Word count: 100
Before my eyes night and day bring back to me
The saintly image of her angelic face;
Whether I write or interweave
My verses to the notes of the lute, I always recall it.
See, by heaven, how a fair eye holds me
In its prison, and never lets me relax;
And how it captures within its toils my heart
Which in its thoughts supports it, to my destruction.
Oh what a great evil, when attraction
Paints upon our spirit some impression!
I realise now that Love does not scorn
Subtly to inscribe his wound on it;
Always to our heart returns this picture,
And despite ourselves always it accompanies us.
