Hello I have to analyze the text of Pierre Ronsard "Love, if the more my fever gets stronger" thank you Love, if the more my fever gets stronger, If the more your bow shoots to hurt me, Before my days, I have grown afraid to leave The green burden of this young escor. I in my heart I feel less strength To transmute for his death to advance, In front of the fire of my ardent thought, Not in green wood, but in powder of bait. Good was for me the unfortunate day When I inhaled the amorous drink, Let our lines pour me a glance: O lucky! If to help me, Love had me die from the very day, Without keeping me sick for so long!
