Amourette, PIERRE DE RONSARD (1565)
Now that winter is hardening the thick ice,
Let us warm ourselves up, my sweet mistress,
Not by crouching in front of the ash-strewn hearth,
But with the pleasures of amorous combat.
Let us sit on this soft couch,
Come here, kiss me, give me your mouth.
Clasp my neck with opened arms,
And now forget your mother.
Let me nibble your breast with my teeth,
Let me uncoil your hair strand by strand,
It's not necessary for such frolicsome sport,
To arrange your hair as you do on Sunday. [...]