Classic Poem

La fuite de l'Amour

I see already that thy wings are spread;
Ah, Love, adieu! my prime of life hath fled:
The fickle Graces now, with mocking look,
Their fingers point at my deserted nook.
If once I cursed the might that in thee lies,
Knew I, alas, that thou wouldst thus chastise?
Ah, Love! the more the tears which thou hast cost,
The more we mourn for thee when thou art lost.

In childhood's slumber calmly I reposed,
When at thy voice mine eyes were first unclosed;
In Beauty I adored thy sovereign sway,
And in thy chains a willing captive lay
So young, I knew not yet thy treacherous arts —
Thy sombre fires — the poison of thy darts
Ah, Love! the more the tears which thou hast cost,
The more we mourn for thee when thou art lost.

Frozen by age, I may perchance forget
How many a kiss on Rosa's lips I met —
But not for Eulalie my plenteous tears —
But not my sighs wasted on Nina's ears:
My vows for one I must not now declare —
For heart-felt love the other was too fair.
Ah, Love! the more the tears which thou hast cost,
The more we mourn for thee when thou art lost.

Fly, then, O Love, my lonely couch! away!
Thy smiles even now in pity seem to play;
With outstretched arms, her aid would Friendship bring,
And soothe my sorrows, guessing whence they spring.
But ward her off — make bright thine arms again —
Sweet is her solace, though for me 'twere vain:
For, Love, the more the tears which thou hast cost,
The more we mourn for thee when thou art lost.