To the Forest of Gastine, Poem by Pierre De Ronsard

Lying beneath your green shade,
Gastine, I sing of you
As much as the Greeks, in their verse,
The forest of Erymanthus:

For, spiteful, I cannot hide
From the future race
How much obliged I am
To your beautiful greenery,

You who, under the shelter of your woods,
Rapt in spirit, amuse me;
You who make it so that every time
The Muses answer me;

You through whom from importunate care
Quite freely I deliver myself,
When in you I lose myself far away,
Speaking with a book.

May your groves always be full
Of amorous troops
Of Satyrs and Silvans,
The fear of the Naiads!

In you may there henceforth dwell
The college of the Muses,
And may your wood never feel
The sacrilegious flame!

Pierre de Ronsard

Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.

Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-to-the-forest-of-gastine-pierre-de-ronsard/