A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Chanson de Fortunio (Alfred de Musset)
CHANSON DE FORTUNIO.
Whom do I love?—I answer, nay,—
Nor ask nor blame,
Not for an empire would I say
The fair one's name.
Sing if ye will,—she's far beyond
All women born.
Shall I describe her? She is blonde
As ripened corn.
I do whatever she commands,
I care a straw
For life,—my life is in her hands,
Her will is law.
The pain that springs from silent love,
A love unknown,
Tears—tears this heart that seems above
As cold as stone.
But much, too much I love, to say
Who lights my flame;
I'd rather die and pass away,
Than breathe her name.