Bel aubepin verdissant,
Fleurissant
Le long de ce beau rivage,
Tu es vestu jusq'au bas
Des longs bras
D'une lambrunche sauvage.

Deux camps drillantz de fourmis
Se sont mis
En garnison soubz ta souche:
Et dans ton tronc mi-mangé
Arangé
Les avettes ont leur couche.

Le gentil rossignolet
Nouvelet,
Avecque sa bien aymée,
Pour ses amours aleger
Vient loger
Tous les ans en ta ramée:

Dans laquelle il fait son ny
Bien garny
De laine & de fine soye,
Où ses petitz s'eclorront,
Qui seront
De mes mains la douce proye.

Or' vy gentil aubepin,
Vy sans fin,
Vy sans que jamais tonnerre,
Ou la congnée, ou les vens,
Ou les tems
Te puissent ruer par terre.

                                Pierre de Ronsard (1524-1585)

         

         Lovely Hawthorn

Lovely hawthorn, verdantly
Flourishing
Along this beautiful riverbank,
You are covered head to toe
With the long arms
Of a wild vine.

Two armies of running ants
Have been set
In garrison at your root:
And in your half-eaten trunk
All arrayed,
The aphids have their bed.

The gentle nightingale
In freshest youth,
With its goodly mate,
For lovemaking has come
To stay
Each year in your branches:

There it makes its nest
Well furnished
With wool and fine silk,
There its young are hatched,
Which will be
To me sweet prey.

Now, to life, gentle hawthorn
Life without end,
Life without which the thunder,
Or the axe, or the wind,
Or the weather
Would not be able to hurl you to the ground.

                                           (English translation by William Hawley)