Louise Labe (1524 - 1566 / France)
All love is seen to fade and pass away.
When soul blends body by most subtle art,
I am the body, you the better part.
But O my well-loved soul, why did you stray ?
Why can't I always swoon with pleasure in
Your arms? My love, my better part, my soul,
O rescue me from drowning, even though
I know so well how badly I have sinned.
Dear friend, I sense there's something in the air
Of hunger lost. And if at last we meet
Again, please don't be cold, remote, discreet.
I am afraid our long concealed affair
Is willed to play out with a formal grace,
Both kind and cruel, never commonplace.
Comments about this poem (Sonnet VII by Louise Labe )
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