Library of the world's best literature, ancient and modern . ses your name, with praise immortal shall be dead and gone, a fleshless shadeUnder Elysian bowers my head be laid;While you, crouched oer your fire, grown old and gray,Sigh for my love, regret your past now, nor wait for love to come again;Gather the roses of your life to-day!»Ronsard, like Chaucer, in spite of a courtiers training, had anintense love of nature. The poet laureate of his age and country,he was none the less an excellent gardener, well versed m all thesecrets of horticulture; and side by side wit
Library of the world's best literature, ancient and modern . ses your name, with praise immortal shall be dead and gone, a fleshless shadeUnder Elysian bowers my head be laid;While you, crouched oer your fire, grown old and gray,Sigh for my love, regret your past now, nor wait for love to come again;Gather the roses of your life to-day!»Ronsard, like Chaucer, in spite of a courtiers training, had anintense love of nature. The poet laureate of his age and country,he was none the less an excellent gardener, well versed m all thesecrets of horticulture; and side by side with marriage odes to princesand epistles to kings and queens, we find charming songs addressedto the birds and insects and fountains of the country that he lovedeven better than the court. And like Chaucer, again, he was capa-ble of higher flights; and could comfort a dying poet with his < Hymnto Death, or write verses full of a lofty stoicism,-like the stanzastaken from one of the odes, which irresistibly suggest the «goodcounsel» of Geoffrey SONNETTo Angelette Here through this wood my saintly AngeletteGoes, making springtime blither with her song;Here lost in smiling thought she strays along,While on these flowers her little feet are is the meadow and the gentle stream That laughs in ripples by her hand caressed,As loitering still, she gathers to her breastThe enameled flowers that oer its wavelets , singing I behold her, there, in tears;And here she-smiles, and there my fancy hearsHer sweet discourse, with boundless blessings sits she down, and there I see her dance;So with the shuttle of a vague romance,Love weaves the warp and woof of all my life. Translation of Katharine Hillard. 12380 PIERRE RONSARD HIS LADYS TOMB As in the gardens, all through May, the rose,Lovely and young and rich 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
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