Divine Angel, Who Balms My Wounds, Poem by Pierre De Ronsard

Poem by Pierre De Ronsard Collection First Book of LovesThemes LovePeriod 16th century

Divine angel, who balms my wounds,
Interpreter and herald of the gods,
From what gate have you flowed down from the heavens,
To relieve the sorrows of my soul?

You, when night inflames me with thought,
Taking pity on my anxious pain,
Now in my arms, now before my eyes,
You make the idol of my Lady swim.

Stay, Dream, stop a little longer!
Deceiver, wait until I have sated myself
On that beautiful breast whose appetite gnaws at me,

And those flanks that make me die:
If not in deed, at least suffer me in dream
For a whole night to embrace them.

Pierre de Ronsard

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