XIII

Oh, si j'étais en ce beau sein ravie

De celui-là pour lequel vais mourant :

Si avec lui vivre le demeurant

De mes courts jours ne m'empêchait envie :

Si m'accolant me disait : chère Amie,

Contentons-nous l'un l'autre ! s'assurant

Que jà tempête, Euripe, ni Courant

Ne nous pourra disjoindre en notre vie :

Si de mes bras le tenant accolé,

Comme du lierre est l'arbre encercelé,

La mort venait, de mon aise envieuse,

Lors que, souef, plus il me baiserait,

Et mon esprit sur ses lèvres fuirait,

Bien je mourrais, plus que vivante, heureuse.

From Complete Poems of Louise Labé (University of Chicago Press, 2006)

SONNET 13

Oh, if I were taken to that handsome breast

and ravished by him for whom I seem to die,

if I could live with him through all of my

short days, free of the envy of the rest;

if, clinging to me, he’d say, “We're so blessed,

dear Love; let’s be contented just to lie

together, proving to flood and stormy sky

how life can never break our close caress”—

if I could tighten my arms around him, cling

as ivy surrounds a tree with its circling,

then death would be welcome to envy and destroy.

And if then he’d give me another thirsty kiss

till my spirit flew away through his sweet lips,

I would die instead of live, and with more joy.

From Complete Poems of Louise Labé (University of Chicago Press, 2006)