Eye whose flash wipes away my outbursts, Eyebrow, the heaven which directs my heart, Starry brow, trophy for my Lord Where he hides his quiver and his bow; Throat of marble where beauty rests, Alabaster chin enriched with happiness, Bust of ivory where honour lives, Breast the hope for which makes light my labours; You have fed my desire so As to satisfy my hunger and my pleasure, And a hundred times a day I have to see you; Like a bird which cannot rest Without returning to the fishy banks And flying again to find there its prey. For me, this is one of those poems which is better in conception than execution: somehow it fails to ‘lift off’. Ronsard clearly had some difficulties with it; Blanchemain’s version has variant readings all over the place – yet this earlier version too doesn’t quite work. Oeil, qui mes pleurs de tes rayons essuye, Sourcil, mais ciel des autres le greigneur, Front estoilé, trophée à mon seigneur, Où son carquois et son arc il estuye : Gorge de marbre, où la beauté s’appuye, Col albastrin emperlé de bonheur, Tetin d’yvoire où se niche l’honneur, Sein dont l’espoir mes travaux desennuye: Vous avez tant apasté mon desir, Que pour saouler ma faim et mon plaisir, Et nuit et jour il faut que je vous voye, Comme un oiseau, qui ne peut sejourner, Sans revoler, tourner, et retourner, Aux bords connus pour y trouver sa proye. Eye, which with your glance wipes away my tears Eyebrow, by heaven the greatest of all Starry brow, trophy for my Lord Where he hides his quiver and his bow; Throat of marble where beauty rests Neck of alabaster pearled with happiness Bust of ivory where honour is stationed Breast the hope for which makes light my labours You have fed my desire so As to satisfy my hunger and my pleasure, And night and day I have to see you again Like a bird which cannot rest Without flying again, turning and turning about Over well-known territory to find there its prey.