A Woman's Friendship, Poem by Alphonse De Lamartine

To Madame L., in her album.

Friendship, sweet rest of the soul,
Charming twilight of hearts,
Why in a woman’s eyes
Do you have more tender languors?

Your nature is yet the same!
In the heart she has made a gift of
It is no longer the woman one loves,
And love has lost its name.

But as on a pure glass
The pencil colors better,
The sentiment that replaces it
Is more visible in two beautiful eyes.

In a woman’s silvery timbre
It has more tender accents:
The chaste voluptuousness of the soul
Becomes almost a pleasure of the senses.

In man, male tenderness
Is the support of a sinewy arm,
But yours is a caress
That shivers in the hair.

Oh! let me, you whom I adore
With the sweetest names in turn,
O women, still be deceived
By the resemblances of love!

Sweet or grave, tender or severe,
Friendship was my first good:
Whatever the hand that clasps mine,
It is a heart that answers mine.

No, never does my hand repel
This symbol of a sentiment;
But when the hand is softer,
I clasp it more tenderly.

Alphonse de Lamartine

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-a-womans-friendship-alphonse-de-lamartine/