Related quotes: translation of a famous sonnet...

When you are very old...

translation of a famous sonnet by Pierre de Ronsard (1524-1585)
from Sonnets for Hélène

When you are very old, at evening, by the fire,
spinning wool by candlelight and winding it in skeins,
you will say in wonderment as you recite my lines:
'Ronsard admired me in the days when I was fair.'

Then not one of your servants dozing gently there
hearing my name's cadence break through your low repines
but will start into wakefulness out of her dreams
and bless your name - immortalised by my desire.

I'll be underneath the ground, and a boneless shade
taking my long rest in the scented myrtle-glade,
and you'll be an old woman, nodding towards life's close,

regretting my love, and regretting your disdain.
Heed me, and live for now: this time won't come again.
Come, pluck now - today - life's so quickly-fading rose.

(translation by Anthony Weir)

poem by Anthony Weir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

When you are Old

Sonnet XXXII

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 with instinct's gyroscope
Mark, nurture, sight and sound, bright chromascope,
Able to distill implicit ph[r]ase.
Methinks fond thoughts might share this paraphrase:
“As rainbow bridge strips off coarse envelope
Underdeveloped were poor poet’s plays -
Death forced him far too early to elope.
E’er since he died, have other poets flourished.
Competent their works, I’ll read his, who love nourished.”

[c] Jonathan Robin

Shakespeare Sonnet XXXII
(cf Ronsard: When you are old and grey)

If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl death my bones with dust shall cover,
And shall by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceasèd lover,
Compare them with the bettering of the time,
And though they be outstripp’d by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rime,
Exceeded by the heights of happier men.
O! then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage:
But since he died, and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.'?

Quand vous serez bien vieille

Quand vous serez bien vieille, au soir, à la chandelle,
Assise auprès du feu, dévidant et filant,
Direz, chantant mes vers, en vous émerveillant:
'Ronsard me célébrait du temps que j'étais belle.'

Lors vous n'aurez servante oyant telle nouvelle,
Déjà sous le labeur à demi sommeillant,
Qui au bruit de Ronsard ne s'aille réveillant,
Bénissant votre nom de louange immortelle.

Je serai sous la terre, et fantôme sans os,
Par les ombres myrteux je prendrai mon repos;
Vous serez au foyer une vieille accroupie,

Regrettant mon amour et votre fier dédain.
Vivez, si m'en croyez, n'attendez à demain;
Cueillez dès aujourd'hui les rose de la vie.

Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584
Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 – 1578

RONSARD Pierre de 1524_1585 rons1_0014_rons1_0000 PFS_DLZ Quand vous serez bien vielle_Quand vous serez bien vielle

RONSARD Pierre de 1524_1585 rons1_0014_FRANC_0000 PFS_DLZ
Quand vous serez bien vielle_Quand vous serez bien vielle

“When you are very old...”

When you are very old, at evening, by the fire,
spinning wool by candlelight and winding it in skeins,
you will say in wonderment as you recite my lines:
“Ronsard admired me in the days when I was fair.”

Then not one of your servants dozing gently there
hearing my name’s cadence break through your low repines
but will start into wakefulness out of her dreams
and bless your name — immortalised by my desire.

I’ll be underneath the ground, and a boneless shade
taking my long rest in the scented myrtle-glade,
and you’ll be an old woman, nodding towards life’s close,

regretting my love, and regretting your disdain.
Heed me, and live for now: this time won’t come again.
Come, pluck now — today — life’s so quickly-fading rose.

Tide and Undertow Anthony WEIR Belfast 1975
Parody Translation Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584
Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 1578 Quand vous serez bien vielle
and William Butler YEATS – To His Book

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

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

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

When You are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And, nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.

How many loved your moments of glad grace
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountain overhead
And his his face amid a crowd of stars.

William Butler YEATS 1893 - The Rose
Parody Translation Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584
Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 1578 Quand vous serez bien vielle

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

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

Candlelight Blues

When yore gitten old at candlelight
Sittin’ at the fire gonna spin all night,
You’ll say sorta marvelin’ as y’sing my song,
“Good old Ronsard sang when Ah was young.”

Then y’won’t have a maid what hears that soun’,
Jist about t’fall asleep an’ all tired down,
Who ain’t gonna wake when she hears ma name
An’ start praisin’ yore name of immortal fame.

Ah’ll be six foot under, no skeleton,
‘Neath the myrtle groves is where my soul will run;

You’ll be dreamin’ at the hearth in a messy ole way,
Sorry you was proud, now Ah’ve gone away.

Better saddle up yore horse, don’t wait all night,
Pick yore roses today, then you’ll be all right.

G. R. TEJADA-FLORES,1961
Parody Translation Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584
Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 1578 Quand vous serez bien vielle

TEJADA-FLORES G. R.19_20 teja1_0001_teja1_0000 PST_LZX Candlelight Blues_When yore gitten old at candlelight

TEJADA-FLORES G. R.19_20 teja1_0001_rons1_0014 PST_LZX Candlelight Blues_When yore gitten old at candlelight

When You are Old

Quand vous serez past it, au soir, un triste weekend,
Assise auprès du box with knitting and teapot,
Say, kid, chantant mes vers, my God, that man was hot!
Ron était stuck on me quand my face was mon friend.

Pauvr’old bag, quelle façon d’arriver à your end,
Dozant par le TV en watchant Golden Shot!
N’assumez pas, ma chère, que déjà that’s your lot –
Comme Ronnie’s has-been poule you’re always dans le trend.

Puis quand j’ai snuffed it, sqweet, vous serez rien du tout.
Alors, écoutez-moi très bien, vous silly moo;
Ne turne me down pas now – trop soon vous trouverez

Qu’on a toujours besoin d’un tel terrific chap,
Un super-poet, qui vous met bien sur le map;
Les roses de Ron son best – so cueillez while you may.

Alison PRINCE 1931_20
Parody Translation Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584
Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 1578 Quand vous serez bien vielle

PRINCE Alison 1931_20 prin1_0001_prin1_0000 PSW_LZW When you are Old_Quand vous serez past it, au soir, un triste weekend

PRINCE Alison 1931_20 prin1_0001_FRANC_0000 PSW_LZW When you are Old_Quand vous serez past it, au soir, un triste weekend

PRINCE Alison 1931_20 prin1_0001_rons1_0014 PSW_LZW When you are Old_Quand vous serez past it, au soir, un triste weekend

Quand vous serez bien vieille

When you are old, one night while candles flare,
Spinning before the fire you’ll sit and say,
Speaking my lines and wondering in your way:
‘Once Ronsard praised me: I was young and fair.’
If any maid should hear you, though her share
Of the day’s work like sleep upon her lay,
Ronsard’s renown would wake her, she would pray
A benediction on your name: her prayer

I shall not hear; buried, a boneless ghost,
At peace I’ll be among the myrtled host;
Muddled about the fire you still will stay,
Feeling remorse at heart for your disdain.
Let’s live, my love; to-morrow waits in vain!
Gather the roses of life; begin today!

Author Unknown 0182 Parody Translation Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584
Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 1578 Quand vous serez bien vielle

Author Unknown 0182 AuUnM_0182_AuUnM_0000 TSX_LZX Quand Vous serez bien Vieille_When you are old, one night

Author Unknown 0182 AuUnM_0182_rons1_0014 TSX_LZX Quand Vous serez bien Vieille_When you are old, one night

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Its Ours, All Ours

Notes written in blood.
The intention of a malcontented suicide.
Medication for the kids.
Regretting the one life we live.
Its ours, all ours.
We got nobody to blame but ourselves.
A little self discipline for every one of the sins.
Pray and just hope your forgiven.
Take it to the grave.
This the one life we must save.

Notes written in blood.
The intentions of a malcontented suicide.
Medication for the kids.
Regretting the one life we live.
Its ours, all ours, Point the finger,
call out a name. Its the blame game.
It never changes. action and reaction.
A contradiction with every word we speak.
Take it all in.
Accepting everything the way it is.
Stop the self mutilation and the persona that goes with it.
Pain all in measure.
It amounts to a count that has no meaning.
Every time it gets worse.
Notes written blood.
The intention of a malcontented suicide.
Medication for the kids.
Regretting the one life we live.
Its ours, all ours, all ours.
Giving up the most precious gift.
Caught in the rift. Overacting to get it right.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Roses

I send you here a wreath of blossoms blown,
And woven flowers at sunset gathered,
Another dawn had seen them ruined, and shed
Loose leaves upon the grass at random strown.
By this, their sure example, be it known,
That all your beauties, now in perfect flower,
Shall fade as these, and wither in an hour,
Flowerlike, and brief of days, as the flower sown.

Ah, time is flying, lady - time is flying;
Nay, ’tis not time that flies but we that go,
Who in short space shall be in churchyard lying,
And of our loving parley none shall know,
Nor any man consider what we were;
Be therefore kind, my love, whiles thou art fair.

poem by Pierre Ronsard
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His Ladys Death

Twain that were foes, while Mary lived, are fled;
One laurel-crowned abides in heaven, and one
Beneath the earth has fared, a fallen sun,
A light of love among the loveless dead.
The first is Chastity, that vanquished
The archer Love, that held joint empery
With the sweet beauty that made war on me,
When laughter of lips with laughing eyes was wed.

Their strife the Fates have closed, with stern control,
The earth holds her fair body, and her soul
An angel with glad angels triumpheth;
Love has no more that he can do; desire
Is buried, and my heart a faded fire,
And for Death’s sake, I am in love with Death.

poem by Pierre Ronsard
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On His Ladies Waking

My lady woke upon a morning fair,
What time Apollo’s chariot takes the skies,
And, fain to fill with arrows from her eyes
His empty quiver, Love was standing there:
I saw two apples that her breast doth bear
None such the close of the Hesperides
Yields; nor hath Venus any such as these,
Nor she that had of nursling Mars the care.

Even such a bosom, and so fair it was,
Pure as the perfect work of Phidias,
That sad Andromeda’s discomfiture
Left bare, when Perseus passed her on a day,
And pale as Death for fear of Death she lay,
With breast as marble cold, as marble pure.

poem by Pierre Ronsard
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Half Day Closing

In the days, the golden days,
When everybody knew what they wanted
It aint here today
Through the times of lasting love,
When parents talked of things tried and tested,
They dont feel the same.
Dreams and belief have gone,
Time, life itself goes on.
From beyond the shrinking skies,
Where money talks and leaves us hypnotized,
It dont pave the way.
Underneath the fading sun,
The silent sum of a businessman,
Has left us choking.
Dreams and belief have gone,
Time, life itself goes on.
In the days, the golden days,
When everybody knew what they wanted,
It aint here today
Dreams and belief have gone,
Time, life itself goes on.

song performed by by Portishead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gravity Of Love

(michael.cretu)
.
Latin
O fortuna
Velut luna
(translation
O fortune
Like the moon )
Turn around and smell what you dont see
Close your eyes ... it is so clear
Heres the mirror, behind there is a screen
On both ways you can get in
Dont think twice before you listen to your heart
Follow the trace for a new start
What you need and everything youll feel
Is just a question of the deal
In the eye of storm youll see a lonely dove
The experience of survival is the key
To the gravity of love
Latin
O fortuna
Velut luna
(translation
O fortune
Like the moon)
--------whispers---------
Woman :
The path of excess leads to
The tower of wisdom
Man :
The path of excess leads to
The tower of wisdom
---------whispers----------
Try to think about it ...
Thats the chance to live your life and discover
What it is, whats the gravity of love
Latin
O fortuna
Velut luna
(translation
O fortune
Like the moon )
Look around just people, can you hear their voice
Find the one wholl guide you to the limits of your choice
But if youre in the eye of storm
Just think of the lonely dove
The experience of survival is the key
To the gravity of love.
Latin
O fortuna
Velut luna
(translation
O fortune
Like the moon )

song performed by by Enigma
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maybe Youre Right

Now maybe youre right and maybe youre wrong
But I aint gonna argue with you no more
Ive done it for too long.
It was getting so good why then, where did it go?
I cant think about it no more tell me if you know.
You were loving me, I was loving you
But now there aint nothing but regretting
Nothing, nothing but regretting everything we do.
I put up with your lies like you put up with mine,
But God knows we should have stopped somewhere,
We could have taken the time,
But time has turned, yes, some call it the end.
So tell me, tell me did you really love me like a friend?
You know you dont have to pretend,
Its all over now itll never happen again, no no no,
Itll never happen again , it wont happen again
Never, never, never, itll never happen again
No, no, no, no.....
So maybe youre right, and maybe youre wrong
But I aint gonna argue with you no more
Ive done it for too long.
It was getting so good why then, where did it go?
I cant think about it no more tell me if you know.
You were loving me, I was loving you
But now there aint nothing but regretting
Nothing, nothing but regretting everything we do.

song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Seasons of Promise

Winter is a time of warmth when I am close to you
A time of sharing stories and of praising what is true
The cold wind can be daunting when one is all alone
But Winter is a time of warmth when I am close to you

Spring is filled with wonderment when I am close to you
A time of bursting energy and life so bold and new
The rain can be quite chilling when one is all alone
But Spring is filled with wonderment when I am close to you

Summer's light is restful when I am close to you
As nature paints a picture with pleasing greens and blue
The heat can be exhausting when one is all alone
But Summer's light is restful when I am close to you

Autumn days are crisp and clear when I am close to you
The reds and golds come once again, yet always seem so new
Letting go brings sadness when one is all alone
But Autumn days are crisp and clear when I am close to you

I will be with you in Winter when snow is thick and cold
I will be with you in Springtime when new life is taking hold
I will be with you in Summer when sun and growth abound
I will be with you when Autumn's old life decorates the ground

poem by Mark Bratlie
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Chinese Whispers

SONNET MMMMXXXVII

To have outraged the wrath in you from ink,
Would leave a Chinese whisper to immerse,
Itself as many whom dispersed methink,
May have from an intention viewed far worse',
For leaving not disdain, than tender phrase,
To dwindle since when'd I become that curse?
Without foreseeing mention - giving praise,
For a misguided youth of words to choose.
I see before me now a glimpse of hurt,
Which not alone, compares to what is Hell,
A conscience too bewildered to convert,
Adds nothing for the Nature one would, well...
...Would not concede to dwelling on the past,
For having whispered first, regretting last.

poem by Anthony V. S. Smith
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To The Moon

Hide this one night thy crescent, kindly Moon;
So shall Endymion faithful prove, and rest
Loving and unawakened on thy breast;
So shall no foul enchanter importune
Thy quiet course; for now the night is boon,
And through the friendly night unseen I fare,
Who dread the face of foemen unaware,
And watch of hostile spies in the bright noon.
Thou knowest, Moon, the bitter power of Love;
’Tis told how shepherd Pan found ways to move,
For little price, thy heart; and of your grace,
Sweet stars, be kind to this not alien fire,
Because on earth ye did not scorn desire,
Bethink ye, now ye hold your heavenly place.

poem by Pierre Ronsard
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The Rose

See, Mignonne, hath not the Rose,
That this morning did unclose
Her purple mantle to the light,
Lost, before the day be dead,
The glory of her raiment red,
Her colour, bright as yours is bright?

Ah, Mignonne, in how few hours,
The petals of her purple flowers
All have faded, fallen, died;
Sad Nature, mother ruinous,
That seest thy fair child perish thus
‘Twixt matin song and even tide.

Hear me, my darling, speaking sooth,
Gather the fleet flower of your youth,
Take ye your pleasure at the best;
Be merry ere your beauty flit,
For length of days will tarnish it
Like roses that were loveliest.

poem by Pierre Ronsard
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dreams

I HAVE been dreaming all a summer day
Of rare and dainty poems I would write;
Love-lyrics delicate as lilac-scent,
Soft idylls woven of wind, and flower, and stream,
And songs and sonnets carven in fine gold.
The day is fading and the dusk is cold;
Out of the skies has gone the opal gleam,
Out of my heart has passed the high intent
Into the shadow of the falling night—
Must all my dreams in darkness pass away?

I have been dreaming all a summer day:
Shall I go dreaming so until Life’s light
Fades in Death’s dusk, and all my days are spent?
Ah, what am I the dreamer but a dream!
The day is fading and the dusk is cold.

My songs and sonnets carven in fine gold
Have faded from me with the last day -beam
That purple lustre to the sea-line lent,
And flushed the clouds with rose and chrysolite;
So days and dreams in darkness pass away.

I have been dreaming all a summer day
Of songs and sonnets carven in fine gold;
But all my dreams in darkness pass away;
The day is fading, and the dusk is cold.

poem by Victor James Daley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ladys Tomb

As in the gardens, all through May, the rose,
Lovely, and young, and fair apparelled,
Makes sunrise jealous of her rosy red,
When dawn upon the dew of dawning glows;
Graces and Loves within her breast repose,
The woods are faint with the sweet odour shed,
Till rains and heavy suns have smitten dead
The languid flower, and the loose leaves unclose, -

So this, the perfect beauty of our days,
When earth and heaven were vocal of her praise,
The fates have slain, and her sweet soul reposes;
And tears I bring, and sighs, and on her tomb
Pour milk, and scatter buds of many a bloom,
That dead, as living, she may be with roses.

poem by Pierre Ronsard
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Very Close To You

Just want to scream everything loudly. Wish, I could just fly to where I belong. No pain would then remain in my heart and everything would just be perfect. Nothing to regret, simply things will become little easier if I reach to the place where I belong. Things are never really perfect, still a glimpse I would get of the dreams I dreamt. Feelings of mine will stop regretting because I simply want to fly.
Everything I want to express once to my love. She should know that for me she is the only one. Never ever have I loved someone so much more than her. Scream, I want to scream my love for you with all the love which I have got for you. Regretting I am nothing since my feelings have only you and I wish that I could reach to you. Closer, very close to you.

poem by Rohit Sapra
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Love

Love is the sunlight of the soul,
That, shining on the silken-tressèd head
Of her we love, around it seems to shed
A golden angel-aureole.

And all her ways seem sweeter ways
Than those of other women in that light:
She has no portion with the pallid night,
But is a part of all fair days.

Joy goes where she goes, and good dreams—
Her smile is tender as an old romance
Of Love that dies not, and her soft eye’s glance
Like sunshine set to music seems.

Queen of our fate is she, but crowned
With purple hearts-ease for her womanhood.
There is no place so poor where she has stood
But evermore is holy ground.

An angel from the heaven above
Would not be fair to us as she is fair:
She holds us in a mesh of silken hair,
This one sweet woman whom we love.

We pray thee, Love, our souls to steep
In dreams wherein thy myrtle flowereth;
So when the rose leaves shiver, feeling Death
Pass by, we may remain asleep:

Asleep, with poppies in our hands,
From all the world and all its cares apart—
Cheek close to cheek, heart beating against heart,
While through Life’s sandglass run the sands

poem by Victor James Daley
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A Lasting Love

I shall love thee all the days of your life
and when your days are done,
I shall love thee all the days of my life
and know that we are one.
Though I am here
and you are not
the love will go on
in each favorite spot
that set the spark of flaming desire,
never to be a burned out fire.

With every rising of the morning sun
I shall love thee for you are the one
that turns my mind to you alone
and how my love for you has grown.
It knows no end.
It's not in sight
and all the words
I can recite
reflect in brazen memory
every touch you ever gave to me.

These memories stay and never fade.
All of them I would not trade.
I treasure them now
and will keep them mine.
There'll be never a space
or never a time
that will come between the way we are,
no matter how close, no matter how far.
Let us carve our names on to a tree
so our love is imprinted for all to see.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Use Me

Use me
I'm beautiful
Take me
I'm yours
Hurt me
It feels like medicine
And all i deserve
People have funny things
Swimming inside
They swing like pendulums
That turn like the tides
Darling
I don't need money
I could be happy
With someone to love
Oh what a crazy time
I've been a fool
On a wild ride to oblivion
I lost my mind
But with you it's understood
You make me feel strong
Your arms look so powerful
When they hold me down
Darling
I don't need money
I could be happy
With someone to love
Everyone looks dangerous
And noone keeps their promises
And i am always running
And you have your dark places
Regretting
Feeling
Remembering
Something
We never said (regretting)
We wish we said (something)
We should have said (regretting)
We could have said (something)
Truly
I don't need money
Or strangers to love me
Or diamonds and pearls
Or fast cars
Designed for the rock stars
I could be happy
With someone to trust
Someone to love
Someone to trust
Use me
I'm beautiful
Take me
I'm yours

song performed by by Garbage
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voi Che Sapete...

Many levels interface to sing
A magic tune which links heart, mind, may chart
Unexplored hope's map as, à la carte,
Dreams complement sole soul-search, somehow bring
Exquisite happiness to everything.
Mundanity shines gilt, guilt shed, - fresh start
As 'Art for Art's sake' links two held apart,
United parts sews destiny whose spring
Draws threads together, weaving spells to string
EMotions into wave bands Cupid's dart
Arrows over buttressed walled rampart,
Under defensive moats, to salve Time's sting.
Dew laden wings may greet new dawn, find flight,
Enchantment conjur, bearing trust's true light.

Author notes

Though Lorenzo da Ponte's 1749-1838 libretto Voi che sapete aria for Mozart's Nozze di Figaro has been well known since composition, what may be less understood that its original words may be traced to at least late 16th century England, and that variations on the theme suggest English as well as French sources.

Love

Two lines shall tell the grief
That I by love sustain:
I burn, I flame, I faint, I freeze,
Of Hell I feel the pain.

Barnabe GOOGE 1540_1594

Love

Two lines shall teach you how
To purchase ease anew:
Let reason rule, where love did reign,
And idle thoughts eschew.

George TURBERVILLE 1540_1610
Parody Barnabe GOOGE 1540_1594 - Love
____________

Lorenzo da Ponte's 1749-1838 libretto

Voi che sapete che cosa è amor
donne, vedete s'io l'ho nel cor.
Quello ch'io provo, vi ridirò
e per me nuovo, capir no'l sò.
Sento un affetto pien di desir
ch'ora è diletto, ch'ora è martir.
Gelo, e poi sento l'alma avvampar
e in un momento torno a gelar.
Ricerco un bene fuori di me
non sò chi'l tiene, non sò cos'è.
Sospiro e gemo senza voler
palpito e tremo senza saper.
Non trovo pace notte nè di
ma pur mi piace languir così.
Voi che sapete che cosa è amor
donne vedete s'io l'ho nel cor;
Donne vededte s'io l'ho nel cor
donne vedete s'io l'ho nel cor.

___________

English Translation

Tell me what love is, what can it be
What is this yearning burning me?
Can I survive it, will I endure?
This is my sickness, is there a cure?
First his obsession seizing my brain,
Starting in passion, ending in pain.
I start to shiver, then I'm on fire,
Then I'm aquiver with seething desire.
Who knows the secret, who holds the key?
I long for something - what can it be?
My brain is reeling, I wonder why;
And then the feeling I'm going to die.
By day it haunts me, haunts me by night.
This tender torment, tinged with delight!
Tell me what love is, what can it be?
What is this yearning, burning in me?
What is this yearning, burning in me?
What is this yearning, burning in me?

To His Young Mistress

Fair flower of fifteen springs, that still
Art scarcely blossomed from the bud,
Yet hast such store of evil will,
A heart so full of hardihood,
Seeking to hide in friendly wise
The mischief of your mocking eyes.

If you have pity, child, give o’er;
Give back the heart you stole from me,
Pirate, setting so little store
On this your captive from Love’s sea,
Holding his misery for gain,
And making pleasure of his pain.

Another, not so fair of face,
But far more pitiful than you,
Would take my heart, if of his grace,
My heart would give her of Love’s due;
And she shall have it, since I find
That you are cruel and unkind.

Nay, I would rather that it died,
Within your white hands prisoning,
Would rather that it still abide
In your ungentle comforting.
Than change its faith, and seek to her
That is more kind, but not so fair.

poem by Pierre Ronsard
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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