Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SONNET: L'AMOUR ASSASSINE, by RENE FRANCOIS ARMAND PRUDHOMME


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SONNET: L'AMOUR ASSASSINE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Poor wretch! That smites, in his despair insane
Last Line: "not by thy hand, not thine, can I be slain!"
Alternate Author Name(s): Sully-prudhomme


Poor wretch! that smites, in his despair insane,
The tender mouth for which he has no bread,
And in some lonely spot, ere it be dead,
Covers the little corse, yet warm, ill-slain:
So I struck down dear Love for being born!
I smoothed the limbs, and closed the eyes, and lone
The darling form was left, 'neath ponderous stones;
Then, at my deed dismayed, I fled forlorn.
I deemed my love was dead indeed, in vain!
Erect he speaks, close by the open tomb,
'Mid April lilacs even there in bloom,
With immortelles his pale brow glorified:
"Thou didst but wound; I live to seek her side;
Not by thy hand, not thine, can I be slain!"





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