Pierre de Ronsard
If through the icebound mazes of your grace
you had vouchsafed a single kiss to guide me,
my heart, though languishing in Polar space,
might have subdued the winter that defied me.
And had I not the picture of your face
(that were too much) but of your hair to tide me
over the seas of pain, I’d keep that place
though angels with the sweets of heaven plied me.
But I have naught of yours in lonliness-
nor beauty’s counterfeit mine eyes to charm,
nor memory to linger and be warm
within the heart. And though you may profess
that love is of the spirit, I’ll reply:
how can soul live or love if body die?
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