Alphonse Marie Louis de Prat de Lamartine (Mâcon, 21 October 1790 – Paris, 28 February 1869)

When, with you alone, hands joined,
You, thoughtful and dumb, and I, boyfriend,
To the lusts of love the soul giving,
I let the elusive hours run;
Or when in the solitude of a shady jungle
I take you away with me; or when I listen

  • Just me, – your tender sighs;
    And from my loose lips
    Eternal vows of eternal constancy;
    Or when, at last, your beloved forehead
    On my trembling knees rest,
    And I suspend my eyes in your eyes,
    Like the leaves of the greedy bee bee;
    Oh, how long then inside my chest
    Vague terror penetrates, like lightning!
    I pale, I tremble;
    And within the glory in which I exalt myself,
    I shed tears that haunt my soul!
    You, affectionate and trembling,
    In your arms you encircle me, – and frightened,
    Interrogating in vain, you cry with me!
    “What secret pain does the heart overwhelm you?”
    You say. “Come, trust your regrets…
    Speaks! I will soften your feathers!
    Speaks! I will comfort your afflicted soul! ”
    Life of my living, don’t question me!
    When wrapped around your level arms
    The confession of love I hear you, and I lift
    Faint eyes to see your face,
    The blessedest mortal the sky does not cover!
    If I tremble, it is because in those forgotten
    Lucky hours,
    I don’t know what voice of delight awakens me,
    And chases me and reminds me
    That happiness as time fades away,
    And our love is an extinguishing torch!
    One move, terrified,
    My soul flies in the shadows of the future,
    And then I think: “Ventura that is over
    A dream is only worth ”.
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