I Burn with My Soul and My Reddening Blood

Poem by Théodore Agrippa D'Aubigné Period 16th century

I burn with my soul and my reddening blood
A hundred amorous sonnets given for my martyrdom,
So few of my languors that I am permitted to write
Sighing a Hecate, and groaning my pain.

For these just reasons, I have observed the hundred:
Unless a hundred bulls, one does not stop the wrath
Of Diana in anger, and Diana withdraws
A hundred years from hell the bodies without monument.

But what? Can I know in the hollow of my offerings,
By their smoking entrails, by their red parts
Either the wrath or the pity of my divinity?

My life is to her life, and my soul to hers,
My heart suffers in her heart. The Tauroscythian
Would have had her desire for blood contented by my blood.

Théodore Agrippa d’Aubigné

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

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