The Cicada

Poem by Rémy Belleau Period 16th century

O how happy we deem you,
Gentle amorous Cicada,
For as soon as you have drunk
Upon the little shrubs a bit
Of dew, as content
As is a powerful princess,
You make with your sweet voice
Tremble the mountains and the woods.

All that the countryside brings,
All that the mountain brings,
Is your own. To the plowman
You above all are pleasing, for his labor
You neither offend nor bring harm
To him, nor to his plowing.
Every man esteems your goodness,
Sweet prophetess of summer.

The Muse loves you, and so loves you
Apollo, who made you thus
Sweetly sing. Old age
Like us never wounds you,

O wise one, O earth-born daughter,
Song-lover, passionate
Who never was of affection,
Free of every passion,
Without being of blood or flesh,
Almost like Jupiter.

Rémy Belleau

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-the-cicada-remy-belleau/