Complaint to His Lady

Poem by Théodore Agrippa D'Aubigné Period 16th century

Do not read these lines, unless you prefer to read
The writings of my heart, the fires of my martyrdom:
No, do not read them, but look up to the Heavens,
see how they have joined their tears to my tears,
Hear how the winds for me raise their weapons,
To this sacred paper do not refuse your eyes.

Firebrand whose ardor ceaselessly kills me,
No longer is my sad voice worthy to be heard:
Loves, come cry out with your pitiful voices
O loves bewildered, causes of my madness,
O senseless children, prodigals of my life,
Wring your little arms, bite your little fingers.

You accuse my fire, you are its kindling,
You accuse me of force, and I have no strength,
You complain of me, and of you I complain,
You accuse the hand, and the heart commands it,
Love greater in the heart, and you still greater,
Command love, and the heart and the hands.

My sin was the cause, and not the undertaking;
Vanquished, I wished to vanquish, and captured I wished to take.
Such was the fury of Scaevola the Roman:
He put his hand to the fire which failed in the task,
Brave in his despair, and braver in his rage,
He burned his heart far more than he burned his hand.

My heart desired too much, O proud enterprise,
My mouth from a kiss on yours was caught,
My hand dared indeed to touch your breast,
What would it have left, this great heart of enterprise?
My mouth wished to give its soul to your mouth,
My hand was drying my heart instead of your breast.

Théodore Agrippa d’Aubigné

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

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