Baiser (A kiss)


Ronsard closes his book of poems to Cassandre with a kiss:

Quand hors de tes lèvres décloses
(Comme entre deux fleuris sentiers)
Je sens ton haleine de roses,
Les miennes les avant portiers
Du baiser, se rougissent d’aise,
Et de mes souhaits tous entiers
Me font jouyr, quand je te baise.
Car l’humeur du baiser appaise,
S’escoulant au cœur peu à peu,
Ceste chaude amoureuse braise,
Dont tes yeux allumoient le feu.
                                                                               When from your unclosed lips
                                                                              (As between two flowery paths)
                                                                              I feel your rose-scented breath,
                                                                              My own lips, the door-keepers
                                                                              Of the kiss, redden easily,
                                                                              And all my longing
                                                                              Makes me happy when I kiss you.
                                                                              For the mood for kissing calms me,
                                                                              Flowing little by little to my heart,
                                                                              In whose warm and loving embers
                                                                              Your eyes could light a fire.
Though prominently placed, this poem post-dates the first collected edition – in fact it dates from 1572.  Blanchemain nevertheless includes it in his text; as so often with poems prominently placed, Ronsard came back and re-worked them in later editions, so Blanchemain’s early version begins rather differently:
Quand de ta lèvre à demi close,
(Comme entre deux fleuris sentiers)
Je sens ton haleine de rose,
Mes lèvres, les avant-portiers…
                                                                              When from your lips, half-closed,
                                                                              (As between two flowery paths)
                                                                              I feel your rose-scented breath,
                                                                              My lips, the door-keepers…

About fattoxxon

Who am I? Lover of all sorts of music - classical, medieval, world (anything from Africa), world-classical (Uzbek & Iraqi magam for instance), and virtually anything that won't be on the music charts... Lover of Ronsard's poetry (obviously) and of sonnets in general. Reader of English, French, Latin & other literature. And who is Fattoxxon? An allusion to an Uzbek singer - pronounce it Patahan, with a very plosive 'P' and a throaty 'h', as in 'khan')

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