Were I to re-arrange the letters of your name,
‘Marie’ would spell ‘aimer’; ‘Love me, Marie,’ I plead.
Your name, by nature of the word, invites the deed;
betraying Nature is a mortal sin and shame.
If you will pledge your heart to me, here’s mine; a pair
we’ll make, equal in loving, seizing now and here
the pleasures this short life affords. And never fear:
I won’t get tangled in another lady’s snare.
One must love something in the world, n’est-ce pas, madame?
A life without affection is a sorry sham,
no better than the fate of those who haunt the wastes
of Scythia, denied the sweetest of all tastes
which Venus and her boy have kept for us. When I
no longer love (I hope that’s never) let me die!