Ode to Fever

Poem by Pierre De Ronsard Collection The MélangesThemes HealthPeriod 16th century

Ah feverish malady,
How are you so bold
To assail my poor body
Which love within and without
By night and by day inflames,
Down to the depths of the soul;
And without pity takes as sport
To set it all afire:
Do you not fear, pale old hag,
That it may burn you yourself?
But what do you seek in me?
Search me everywhere, and see
That I am no longer among
The number of the living, but truly a shadow
Of those whom love and death
Have led beyond the port,
Companions of the empty troops.
I have no more blood, nor veins,
Nor flank, nor lungs, nor heart,
Long has it been since the rigor
Of my too proud Cassandre
Turned them all to ash.
So, if you wish to wound me,
You must go and wound
The tender body of my beloved,
For in her lies my life,
And not in me, who am dead,
And who, without soul, cannot
Feel anything done to me,
Any more than a cold mace
Of rock, or of metal,
Which feels neither good nor ill.

Pierre de Ronsard

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-ode-to-fever-pierre-de-ronsard/