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The Love that torments me
I find so pleasant
That the more it grows
the less I wish to be free of it:
Though never sleep
closes my eyes,
the more love consumes me
the less it wearies me.
All night I keep watch
without yielding to sleep,
recalling the marvel
that keeps me awake,
picturing to myself her
whom I see all day long,
whose beautiful image
labors in my dwelling.
All night her image
appears before me:
the line of her face
just as it is I see:
I see her beautiful mouth,
and I see her beautiful breast,
her beautiful breasts I touch,
and I kiss her hand.
By day if my Mistress
has smiled on me with favor,
all night my spirits
must feed on it again.
If with a cheerful glance
she has granted me favor,
at night her sweet wound
tickles my heart.
If she brightens the place
with her gracious dance,
all night her grace
runs back before my eyes:
if in sweet marvel
I have heard her song,
all night in my ear
I taste its sound again.
O happy my life
to enjoy such fortune!
No, no, I have no desire
to have a god’s honor,
since as I wish I pass
both night and day,
gathering so much grace
from the torment of love.
Jean-Antoine de Baïf
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-love-that-torments-me-jean-antoine-de-baif/