Darling, each morning a blooded rose
Lures the sunlight in, and shows
Her soft, moist and secret part;
See now, before you go to bed,
Her skirts replaced, her darker red:
A color like your own, sweetheart.
Mignonne, allons voir si la rose
Qui ce matin avoit desclose
Sa robe de pourpre au Soleil,
A point perdu ceste vesprée
Les plis de sa robe pourprée.
Et son teint au vostre pareil.
Qui ce matin avoit desclose
Sa robe de pourpre au Soleil,
A point perdu ceste vesprée
Les plis de sa robe pourprée.
Et son teint au vostre pareil.
Original text (French)
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Source, in full
"À Cassandre (À Sa Maistresse)", st. 1, Odes (1550); as translated by Robert Mezey in The Kenyon Review, vol. 19, no. 1 (1957), reprinted in The Lovemaker: Poems (1961) with the following alterations: "deeper" for "darker" (l. 5), "A colour much like yours, dear heart." (l. 6)