| SONNET 13 | SONNET 13 |
| Louise Labé | tr. Peter Low |
|
Oh, si j'étais en ce beau sein ravie De celui-là pour lequel vais mourant: Si avec lui vivre le demeurant De mes courts jours ne m'empêchait envie: Si m'accolant me disait: chère Amie, Contentons-nous l'un l'autre! s'assurant Que jà tempête, Euripe, ni Courant Ne nous pourra disjoindre en notre vie: Si de mes bras le tenant accolé, Comme du lierre est l'arbre encercelé, La mort venait, de mon aise envieuse, Lors que, souef, plus il me baiserait, Et mon esprit sur ses lèvres fuirait, Bien je mourrais, plus que vivante, heureuse. |
If I could lodge my head on the handsome chest of him who’s costing me my health and sense; if I could be his partner for the rest of this brief life, and no one took offence; if, while embracing me, he’d say: "Sweetheart, let’s be content to share one life and fate, vowing that never a rip-tide, storm nor strait will have the power to wrestle us apart!" if, while I clung too tight to ever shift, entwining him as ivy clasps a tree, Death were to sneak in, jealous of my bliss, and as he kept on gently kissing me, my soul were to leave my body in his kiss ... I’d then die happier than I ever lived. |
Trans. Copyright © Peter Low 2005