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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=426289" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>When you are Old</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sonnet XXXII </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Should you survive the number of my days, <br>Attest to buried bones and grounded hope, <br>Nervous, by chance, perhaps this book you'll ope, <br>Grave hand re-reading, when fast passed my ways.<br>Tender friend recall our comet blaze, <br>Openly with instinct's gyroscope<br>Mark, nurture, sight and sound, bright chromascope, <br>Able to distill implicit ph[r]ase.<br>Methinks fond thoughts might share this paraphrase: <br>“As rainbow bridge strips off coarse envelope<br>Underdeveloped were poor poet’s plays -<br>Death forced him far too early to elope.<br>E’er since he died, have other poets flourished.<br>Competent their works, I’ll read his, who love nourished.”<br> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">[c] Jonathan Robin</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Shakespeare Sonnet XXXII <br>(cf Ronsard: When you are old and grey) </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>If thou survive my well-contented day, <br>When that churl death my bones with dust shall cover, <br>And shall by fortune once more re-survey<br>These poor rude lines of thy deceasèd lover, <br>Compare them with the bettering of the time, <br>And though they be outstripp’d by every pen, <br>Reserve them for my love, not for their rime, <br>Exceeded by the heights of happier men.<br>O! then vouchsafe me but this loving thought: <br>'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, <br>A dearer birth than this his love had brought, <br>To march in ranks of better equipage: <br>But since he died, and poets better prove, <br>Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.'? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Quand vous serez bien vieille </div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Quand vous serez bien vieille, au soir, à la chandelle, <br>Assise auprès du feu, dévidant et filant, <br>Direz, chantant mes vers, en vous émerveillant: <br>'Ronsard me célébrait du temps que j'étais belle.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lors vous n'aurez servante oyant telle nouvelle, <br>Déjà sous le labeur à demi sommeillant, <br>Qui au bruit de Ronsard ne s'aille réveillant, <br>Bénissant votre nom de louange immortelle.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Je serai sous la terre, et fantôme sans os, <br>Par les ombres myrteux je prendrai mon repos; <br>Vous serez au foyer une vieille accroupie, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Regrettant mon amour et votre fier dédain.<br>Vivez, si m'en croyez, n'attendez à demain; <br>Cueillez dès aujourd'hui les rose de la vie.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584 <br>Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 – 1578</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>RONSARD Pierre de 1524_1585 rons1_0014_rons1_0000 PFS_DLZ Quand vous serez bien vielle_Quand vous serez bien vielle</div><div style="margin:10px 0">RONSARD Pierre de 1524_1585 rons1_0014_FRANC_0000 PFS_DLZ <br>Quand vous serez bien vielle_Quand vous serez bien vielle</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>“When you are very old...”</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When you are very old, at evening, by the fire, <br>spinning wool by candlelight and winding it in skeins, <br>you will say in wonderment as you recite my lines: <br>“Ronsard admired me in the days when I was fair.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then not one of your servants dozing gently there<br>hearing my name’s cadence break through your low repines<br>but will start into wakefulness out of her dreams<br>and bless your name — immortalised by my desire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I’ll be underneath the ground, and a boneless shade<br>taking my long rest in the scented myrtle-glade, <br>and you’ll be an old woman, nodding towards life’s close, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">regretting my love, and regretting your disdain.<br>Heed me, and live for now: this time won’t come again.<br>Come, pluck now — today — life’s so quickly-fading rose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Tide and Undertow Anthony WEIR Belfast 1975<br>Parody Translation Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584 <br>Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 1578 Quand vous serez bien vielle<br>and William Butler YEATS – To His Book</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>WEIR Anthony 19_20 weir1_0001_wear1_0000 PST_LZX When you are very old_When you are very old at even by the fire</div><div style="margin:10px 0">WEIR Anthony 19_20 weir1_0001_yeat1_0000 PST_LZX When you are very old_When you are very old at even by the fire</div><div style="margin:10px 0">WEIR Anthony 19_20 weir1_0001_rons1_0014 PST_LZX When you are very old_When you are very old at even by the fire</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> <br>When You are Old</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When you are old and grey and full of sleep, <br>And, nodding by the fire, take down this book, <br>And slowly read, and dream of the soft look<br>Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How many loved your moments of glad grace<br>And loved your beauty with love false or true, <br>But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, <br>And loved the sorrows of your changing face.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And bending down beside the glowing bars, <br>Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled<br>And paced upon the mountain overhead<br>And his his face amid a crowd of stars.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>William Butler YEATS 1893 - The Rose<br>Parody Translation Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584 <br>Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 1578 Quand vous serez bien vielle</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0">YEATS William Butler 1865_1939 yeat1_0011_yeat1_0000 PTX_DLZ When you are old_When you are old and gray and full of sleep</div><div style="margin:10px 0">YEATS William Butler 1865_1939 yeat1_0011_rons1_0014 PTX_DLZ When you are old_When you are old and gray and full of sleep</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"> <br>Candlelight Blues </div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>When yore gitten old at candlelight <br>Sittin’ at the fire gonna spin all night, <br>You’ll say sorta marvelin’ as y’sing my song, <br>“Good old Ronsard sang when Ah was young.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then y’won’t have a maid what hears that soun’, <br>Jist about t’fall asleep an’ all tired down, <br>Who ain’t gonna wake when she hears ma name<br>An’ start praisin’ yore name of immortal fame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah’ll be six foot under, no skeleton, <br>‘Neath the myrtle groves is where my soul will run; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You’ll be dreamin’ at the hearth in a messy ole way, <br>Sorry you was proud, now Ah’ve gone away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Better saddle up yore horse, don’t wait all night, <br>Pick yore roses today, then you’ll be all right.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">G. R. TEJADA-FLORES,1961<br>Parody Translation Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584 <br>Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 1578 Quand vous serez bien vielle</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>TEJADA-FLORES G. R.19_20 teja1_0001_teja1_0000 PST_LZX Candlelight Blues_When yore gitten old at candlelight</div><div style="margin:10px 0">TEJADA-FLORES G. R.19_20 teja1_0001_rons1_0014 PST_LZX Candlelight Blues_When yore gitten old at candlelight<br> <br>When You are Old</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Quand vous serez past it, au soir, un triste weekend, <br>Assise auprès du box with knitting and teapot, <br>Say, kid, chantant mes vers, my God, that man was hot! <br>Ron était stuck on me quand my face was mon friend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pauvr’old bag, quelle façon d’arriver à your end, <br>Dozant par le TV en watchant Golden Shot! <br>N’assumez pas, ma chère, que déjà that’s your lot –<br>Comme Ronnie’s has-been poule you’re always dans le trend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Puis quand j’ai snuffed it, sqweet, vous serez rien du tout.<br>Alors, écoutez-moi très bien, vous silly moo; <br>Ne turne me down pas now – trop soon vous trouverez</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Qu’on a toujours besoin d’un tel terrific chap, <br>Un super-poet, qui vous met bien sur le map; <br>Les roses de Ron son best – so cueillez while you may.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Alison PRINCE 1931_20<br>Parody Translation Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584 <br>Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 1578 Quand vous serez bien vielle</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0">PRINCE Alison 1931_20 prin1_0001_prin1_0000 PSW_LZW When you are Old_Quand vous serez past it, au soir, un triste weekend</div><div style="margin:10px 0">PRINCE Alison 1931_20 prin1_0001_FRANC_0000 PSW_LZW When you are Old_Quand vous serez past it, au soir, un triste weekend</div><div style="margin:10px 0">PRINCE Alison 1931_20 prin1_0001_rons1_0014 PSW_LZW When you are Old_Quand vous serez past it, au soir, un triste weekend<br> <br>Quand vous serez bien vieille </div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When you are old, one night while candles flare, <br>Spinning before the fire you’ll sit and say, <br>Speaking my lines and wondering in your way: <br>‘Once Ronsard praised me: I was young and fair.’<br>If any maid should hear you, though her share<br>Of the day’s work like sleep upon her lay, <br>Ronsard’s renown would wake her, she would pray<br>A benediction on your name: her prayer</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I shall not hear; buried, a boneless ghost, <br>At peace I’ll be among the myrtled host; <br>Muddled about the fire you still will stay, <br>Feeling remorse at heart for your disdain.<br>Let’s live, my love; to-morrow waits in vain! <br>Gather the roses of life; begin today! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Author Unknown 0182 Parody Translation Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584 <br>Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 1578 Quand vous serez bien vielle</div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Author Unknown 0182 AuUnM_0182_AuUnM_0000 TSX_LZX Quand Vous serez bien Vieille_When you are old, one night</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Author Unknown 0182 AuUnM_0182_rons1_0014 TSX_LZX Quand Vous serez bien Vieille_When you are old, one night</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Jonathan+Robin">Jonathan Robin</a><div class=q>
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Should you survive the number of my days, 
Attest to buried bones and grounded hope, 
Nervous, by chance, perhaps this book you'll ope, 
Grave hand re-reading, when fast passed my ways.
Tender friend recall our comet blaze, 
Openly ..."></div>
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