I am more at ease in my heart than the Gods When warmly you kiss me, my mistress; The stolen sweetness of your kiss Lifts me up, totally overcome, to the heavens. Kiss me then, my heart; for I prefer A single kiss from you, than if some goddess In the game of love should, with a particular embrace, Kiss me naked in her lovely arms. But your pride has always customarily Accompanied your kiss with bitterness, Cold and tasteless: nor could I Suffer such fortune: for my soul which touches A thousand beauties, would rush out of my mouth And from being too at ease in your bosom I would die.
A happy Ronsard?! Happiness obviously worried him; there are major changes between Blanchemain’s version and the one above! The two are not quite separate poems on the same theme, but they’re getting there.
Je suis plus aise en mon cœur que les Dieux, Quand maugré toi tu me baises, Maistresse : De ton baiser la douceur larronnesse Tout esperdu m’en-vole jusqu’aux Cieux. Quant est de moy, j’estime beaucoup mieux Ton seul baiser que si quelque deesse, En cent façons doucement tenteresse, M’accoloit nud d’un bras delicieux. Il est bien vrai que tu as de coustume D’entremesler tes baisers d’amertume, Les donnants courts. Mais quoi ? Je ne pourrois Vivre autrement : car mon ame, qui touche Tant de beautes, s’enfuyroit par ma bouche, Et de trop d’aise en ton sein je mourrois. I am more at ease in my heart than the Gods When despite yourself you kiss me, my mistress; The stolen sweetness of your kiss Lifts me up, totally overcome, to the heavens. As for me, I put far more value On a single kiss from you, than if some goddess Tempting me sweetly a hundred different ways Should embrace me naked in her lovely arms. It is indeed true that you have customarily Mixed your kisses with bitterness, Giving short ones only. So what? I could not Live otherwise: for my soul which touches So many beauties, would rush out of my mouth And from being too at ease in your bosom I would die.