Song Before Death

(From the French)

1795

Sweet mother, in a minute’s span Death parts thee and my love of thee; Sweet love, that yet art living man, Come back, true love, to comfort me. Back, ah, come back! ah wellaway! But my love comes not any day.

As roses, when the warm West blows, Break to full flower and sweeten spring, My soul would break to a glorious rose In such wise at his whispering. In vain I listen; wellaway! My love says nothing any day.

You that will weep for pity of love On the low place where I am lain, I pray you, having wept enough, Tell him for whom I bore such pain That he was yet, ah! wellaway! My true love to my dying day.

Commentary

Introduction

Swinburne's poem is a translation from de Sade's Aline et Valcour; ou, Le Roman philosophique (1795). In a letter to Richard Monckton Milnes, Swinburne wrote One thing I forgot about that eternal phallus-worshiper—why did you never tell me what a good lyrical poet the man was? There is a song in the eigth part o 'Aline et Valcour' whcih seems to me about the most exquisite piece of simple finished language and musical effect in all 18th century French literature. Rossetti and Meredith (to whom I shewed it at once, disguising at first the author's name to elude prejudice) fully agreed with me. It is something like Blake's poetry in England at the same date—both of them sweet and perfect, and unlike any contemporary work—mediaeval rather in grace and quiteness of beauty. Letters 1:58-59