Some would know Why I so Long still doe tarry, And ask why Here that I Live, and not marry? Thus I those Doe oppose; What man would be here, Slave to… - Robert Herrick

Au lecteur généreux

Vois sans voir, et si des imperfections
Se font jour au fil de mes traductions,
Ignore-les : quant aux énormités,
Cache-les, et, avec, la nudité
De leur père : il s'est forcé à l'éveil,
Mais Homère aussi succombe au sommeil…

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers:
Of April, May, of June, and July flowers.
I sing of Maypoles, Hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes.
I write of youth, of love, and have access
By these to sing of cleanly wantonness;
I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by piece
Of balm, of oil, of spice and ambergris;
I sing of times trans-shifting, and I write
How roses first came red and lilies white;
I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing
The Court of Mab, and of the Fairy King;
I write of hell; I sing (and ever shall)
Of heaven, and hope to have it after all.

Fair daffadills, we weep to see
You haste away so soon:
As yet the early rising sun
Has not attained his noon.