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Ballads & lyrics of old France : with other poems online

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University of Califor;
Southern Regional
Library Facility




t. ft. J







ID GdorlJ) Series.



BALLADS ft* LYRICS

OF
OLD FRANCE




NOTE. Of all books of modern verse
"Ballads and Lyrics of Old France:
with other 'Poems by A. Lang, London :
Longmans, Green, & Co. 1872. (Crown
8vo. Pp. x: 1-164) * s one f th* rarest
and most eagerly sought for by collec-
tors of First Editions.

From time to time portions of this vol-
ume have been reprinted by Mr. Lang:
as a whole, however, it remains introuv-
able. THE OLD WORLD edition presents
the text of 1872 in its original integrity,
thus making once more accessible, a
body of exquisite translations other-
wise excluded from all save the most
determined bibliophile.



BALLADS a LYRICS OF

OLD FRANCE

WITH OTHER POEMS

BY A. LANG




Portland, Maine
OMAS MOS

Mdcccxcviy



This Second Edition on
Van GelJer paper con-
sists of 92 j copies.



TO
E. M. S.



CONTENTS



TRANSLATIONS.



CHARLES D'ORLEANS:

SPRING i

RONDEL 2

FRANgois VILLON:

RONDEL 3

ARBOR AMORIS .... 4

BALLAD OF THE GIBBET . . 6

Du BELLAY:

HYMN TO THE WINDS ... 8

A VOW TO HEAVENLY VENUS . 9

TO HIS FRIEND IN ELYSIUM . IO

A SONNET TO HEAVENLY BEAUTY II



CONTENTS

PAGE

REMY BELLEAU:

APRIL 12

RONSARD :

ROSES 15

THE ROSE l6

TO THE MOON .... 17

TO HIS YOUNG MISTRESS . . l8

DEADLY KISSES . . . . 19

OF HIS LADY'S OLD AGE . . 20

ON HIS LADY'S WAKING . . 21

HIS LADY'S DEATH ... 22

HIS LADY'S TOMB ... 23

JACQUES TAHUREAU:

SHADOWS OF HIS LADY . . 24

MOONLIGHT 25

PASSERAT:

LOVE IN MAY .... 26
VICTOR HUGO:

THE GRAVE AND THE ROSE . 28

THE GENESIS OF BUTTERFLIES . 29

MORE STRONG THAN TIME . . 30



CONTENTS

PAGE

GERARD DE NERVAL:

AN OLD TUNE .... 3!

ALFRED DE MUSSET:

JUANA 32

HENRI MURGER:

SPRING IN THE STUDENT'S QUARTER 34

OLD LOVES 36

MUSETTE 38

BALLADS.

THE THREE CAPTAINS ... 40

THE BRIDGE OF DEATH . . 42

LE PERE SEVERE .... 44

THE MILK WHITE DOE . . 46

A LADY OF HIGH DEGREE . . 48

LOST FOR A ROSE'S SAKE . . 50

BALLADS OF MODERN GREECE :

THE BRIGAND'S GRAVE ... 51

THE SUDDEN BRIDAL ... 52



CONTENTS
PAGE

GREEK FOLK SONGS:

IANNOULA 56

THE TELL-TALES .... 57

AVE.

TWILIGHT ON TWEED 6l

ONE FLOWER .... 62

METEMPSYCHOSIS ... 63

LOST IN HADES .... 64

A STAR IN THE NIGHT . . 65

A SUNSET ON YARROW . . 66

HESPEROTHEN.

THE SEEKERS FOR PH^EACIA . 69

A SONG OF PH^ACIA . . . 71

THE DEPARTURE FROM PH^ACIA 73

A BALLAD OF DEPARTURE . . 75

THEY HEAR THE SIRENS FOR THE

SECOND TIME .... 76

CIRCE'S ISLE REVISITED . . 78

THE LIMIT OF LANDS ... 79



CONTENTS

PAGE

VERSES ON PICTURES.

COLINETTE 83

A SUNSET OF WATTEAU . . 85

A NATIVITY OF SANDRO BOTTICELLI 87

SONGS AND SONNETS.

TWO HOMES 91

SUMMER'S ENDING ... 92

NIGHTINGALE WEATHER . . 93

LOVE AND WISDOM 95

GOOD-BYE 96

AN OLD PRAYER .... 98

LOVE'S MIRACLE .... 99

DREAMS IOO

FAIRY LAND IOI

TWO SONNETS OF THE SIRENS . 103

A LA BELLE HELENE . . . 105

SYLVIE ET AURELIE . . IO6

A LOST PATH .... 108

THE SHADE OF HELEN . . 109

SONNETS TO POETS.

JACQUES TAHUREAU . . .113

xiii



CONTENTS

PAGE

SONNETS TO POETS. (CONTINUED.)

FRANC.OIS VILLON . . .114

PIERRE RONSARD . . . .115

GERARD DE NERVAL . . . Il6

THE DEATH OF MIRANDOLA . 117

LIST OF POETS TRANSLATED . . 121




TRANSLATIONS




SPRING.

CHARLES D'ORLEANS,
1391 1465.

THE NEW-LIVBRIED YEAR. SIR HENRY WOTTON.

THE year has changed his mantle cold
Of wind, of rain, of bitter air;
And he goes clad in cloth of gold,

Of laughing suns and season fair;
No bird or beast of wood or wold

But doth with cry or song declare
The year lays down his mantle cold.
All founts, all rivers, seaward rolled,

The pleasant summer livery wear,

With silver studs on broidered vair;
The world puts off its raiment old,
The year lays down his mantle cold.



RONDEL.

CHARLES D'ORLEANS,
1391 1465.

TO HIS MISTRESS, TO SUCCOUR HIS HEART THAT IS
BELEAGUERED BY JEALOUSY.

O TRBNGTHEN, my Love, this castle of my heart,
O And with some store of pleasure give me aid,
For Jealousy, with all them of his part,

Strong siege about the weary tower has laid.

Nay, if to break his bands thou art afraid,
Too weak to make his cruel force depart,
Strengthen at least this castle of my heart,

And with some store of pleasure give me aid.
Nay, let not Jealousy, for all his art

Be master, and the tower in ruin laid,

That still, ah Love I thy gracious rule obeyed.
Advance, and give me succour of thy part;
Strengthen, my Love, this castle of my heart.



RONDEL.

FRANCOIS VILLON,
1460.



OOD-BYE ! the tears are in my eyes ;
Farewell, farewell, my prettiest;

Farewell, of women born the best;
Good-bye ! the saddest of good-byes.
Farewell ! with many vows and sighs

My sad heart leaves you to your rest;
Farewell ! the tears are in my eyes ;
Farewell I from you my miseries

Are more than now may be confessed,

And most by thee have I been blessed,
Yea, and for thee have wasted sighs;
Good-bye ! the last of my good-byes.



ARBOR AMORIS.

FRANgois VILLON,
1460.

I HAVE a tree, a graft of Love,
That in my heart has taken root ;
Sad are the buds and blooms thereof,

And bitter sorrow is its fruit ;

Yet, since it was a tender shoot,
So greatly hath its shadow spread,
That underneath all joy is dead,

And all my pleasant days are flown,
Nor can I slay it, nor instead

Plant any tree, save this alone.

Ah, yet, for long and long enough

My tears were rain about its root,
And though the fruit be harsh thereof,

I scarcely looked for better fruit

Than this, that carefully I put
In garner, for the bitter bread
Whereon my weary life is fed :

Ah, better were the soil unsown
That bears such growths; but Love instead

Will plant no tree, but this alone.

Ah, would that this new spring, whereof
The leaves and flowers flush into shoot,

I might have succour and aid of Love,
To prune these branches at the root,
That long have borne such bitter fruit,



And graft a new bough, comforted
With happy blossoms white and red ;

So pleasure should for pain atone,
Nor Love slay this tree, nor instead

Plant any tree, but this alone.

L'ENVOY.

Princess, by whom my hope is fed,
My heart thee prays in lowlihead

To prune the ill boughs overgrown,
Nor slay Love's tree, nor plant instead

Another tree, save this alone.



BALLAD OF THE GIBBET.



AN EPITAPH IN THE FORM OF A BALLAD THAT
FRANCOIS VILLON WROTE OF HIMSELF AND HIS
COMPANY, THEY EXPECTING SHORTLY TO BS
HANGED.

O ROTHERS and men that shall after us be,
ID Let not your hearts be hard to us :
For pitying this our misery

Ye shall find God the more piteous,

Look on us six that are hanging thus,
And for the flesh that so much we cherished
How it is eaten of birds and perished,

And ashes and dust fill our bones' place,
Mock not at us that so feeble be,

But pray God pardon us out of His grace.

Listen, we pray you, and look not in scorn,

Though justly, in sooth, we are cast to die;
Ye wot no man so wise is born

That keeps his wisdom constantly.

Be ye then merciful, and cry
To Mary's Son that is piteous,
That His mercy take no stain from us,

Saving us out of the fiery place.
We are but dead, let no soul deny

To pray God succour us out of His grace.

The rain out of heaven has washed us clean,
The sun has scorched us black and bare,



Ravens and rooks have pecked at our eyne,

And feathered their nests with our beards
and hair.

Round are we tossed, and here and there,
This way and that, at the wild wind's will,
Never a moment my body is still ;

Birds they are busy about my face.
Live not as we, nor fare as we fare ;

Pray God pardon us out of His grace.

L'ENVOY.

Prince Jesus, Master of all, to thee
We pray Hell gain no mastery,

That we come never anear that place ;
And ye men, make no mockery,

Pray God pardon us out of His grace.



HYMN TO THE WINDS.

THE WINDS ARE INVOKED BY THE WINNOWERS
OF CORN.

Du BELLAY,
I55 -

To you, troop so fleet,
That with winged wandering feet,

Through the wide world pass,
And with soft murmuring
Toss the green shades of spring

In woods and grass,
Lily and violet
I give, and blossoms wet,

Roses and dew ;
This branch of blushing roses,
Whose fresh bud uncloses,

Wind-flowers too.
Ah, winnow with sweet breath,
Winnow the holt and heath,

Round this retreat;
Where all the golden morn
We fan the gold o' the corn,

In the sun's heat.



A VOW TO HEAVENLY VENUS.



Du BELLAY,



WE that with like hearts love, we lovers twain,
New wedded in the village by thy fane,
Lady of all chaste love, to thee it is
We bring these amaranths, these white lilies,
A sign, and sacrifice ; may Love, we pray,
Like amaranthine flowers, feel no decay;
Like these cool lilies may our loves remain,
Perfect and pure, and know not any stain ;
And be our hearts, from this thy holy hour,
Bound each to each, like flower to wedded flower.



TO HIS FRIEND IN ELYSIUM.

Du BELLAY,
1550.

So long you wandered on the dusky plain,
Where flit the shadows with their endless cry,
You reach the shore where all the world goes by,
You leave the strife, the slavery, the pain ;
But we, but we, the mortals that remain
In vain stretch hands ; for Charon sullenly
Drives us afar, we may not come anigh
Till that last mystic obolus we gain.

But you are happy in the quiet place,
And with the learned lover of old days,
And with your love, you wander ever-more
In the dim woods, and drink forgetfulness
Of us your friends, a weary crowd that press
About the gate, or labour at the oar.



10



A SONNET TO HEAVENLY BEAUTY.

Du BELLA Y,
1550.

IF this our little life is but a day \

In the Eternal, if the years in vain
Toil after hours that never come again,
If everything that hath been must decay,
Why dreamest thou of joys that pass away,
My soul, that my sad body doth restrain ?
Why of the moment's pleasure art thou fain ?
Nay, thou hast wings, nay, seek another stay.

There is the joy whereto each soul aspires,
And there the rest that all the world desires,

And there is love, and peace, and gracious mirth ;
And there in the most highest heavens shalt thou
Behold the Very Beauty, whereof now

Thou worshippest the shadow upon earth.



ii



APRIL.

REMY BELLEAU,
1560.

APRIL, pride of woodland ways,
Of glad days,
April, bringing hope of prime,

To the young flowers that beneath
Their bud sheath
Are guarded in their tender time ;

April, pride of fields that be

Green and free,
That in fashion glad and gay,
Stud with flowers, red and blue,

Every hue,
Their jewelled spring array;

April, pride of murmuring

Winds of spring,
That beneath the winnowed air,
Trap with subtle nets and sweet

Flora's feet,
Flora's feet, the fleet and fair;

April, by thy hand caressed,

From her breast
Nature scatters everywhere
Handfuls of all sweet perfumes,

Buds and blooms,
Making faint the earth and air.



April, joy of the green hours,

Clothes with flowers
Over all her locks of gold
My sweet Lady ; and her breast

With the blest
Buds of summer manifold.

April, with thy gracious wiles,

Like the smiles,

Smiles of Venus ; and thy breath
Like her breath, the Gods' delight,

(From their height
They take the happy air beneath ; )

It is thou that, of thy grace,

From their place
In the far-off isles dost bring
Swallows over earth and sea,

Glad to be
Messengers of thee, and Spring.

Daffodil and eglantine,

And woodbine,
Lily, violet, and rose
Plentiful in April fair,

To the air,
Their pretty petals do unclose.

Nightingales ye now may hear,

Piercing clear, '
Singing in the deepest shade;

'3



Many and many a babbled note

Chime and float,
Woodland music through the glade.

April, all to welcome thee,

Spring sets free

Ancient dames, and with low breath
Wakes the ashes grey and old

That the cold
Chilled within our hearts to death.

Thou beholdest in the warm

Hours, the swarm
Of the thievish bees, that flies

Evermore from bloom to bloom

For perfume,
Hid away in tiny thighs.

Her cool shadows May can boast,

Fruits almost

Ripe, and gifts of fertile dew,
Manna-sweet and honey-sweet,

That complete
Her flower garland fresh and new.

Nay, but I will give my praise,

To these days,

Named with the glad name of Her
That from out the foam o' the sea

Came to be
Sudden light on earth and air.

i Aphrodite Avril.



ROSES.

RONSARD,
1550.

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,
Flower-like, 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.



THE ROSE.
RONSARD,

'55-

SEE, Mignonne, hath not the Rose,
That this moniing 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.



16



TO THE MOON.
RON SARD,

1550-

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.



TO HIS YOUNG MISTRESS.

RONSARD,



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.



18



DEADLY KISSES.
RON SARD,

1550.

AH take these lips away ; no more,
No more such kisses give to me.

My spirit faints for joy; I see
Through mists of death the dreamy shore,
And meadows by the water-side,

Where all about the Hollow Land
Fare the sweet singers that have died,

With their lost ladies, hand in hand;
Ah, Love, how fireless are their eyes,

How pale their lips that kiss and smile !

So mine must be in little while
If thou wilt kiss me in such wise.



OF HIS LADY'S OLD AGE.

RONSARD,



WHEN you are very old, at evening
You'll sit and spin beside the fire, and say,
Humming my songs, ' Ah well, ah well-a-day !
When I was young, of me did Ronsard sing.'
None of your maidens that doth hear the thing,
Albeit with her weary task foredone,
But wakens at my name, and calls you one
Blest, to be held in long remembering.

I shall be low beneath the earth, and laid
On sleep, a phantom in the myrtle shade,

While you beside the fire, a grandame grey,
My love, your pride, remember and regret ;
Ah, love me, love ! we may be happy yet,

And gather roses, while 'tis called to-day.



20



ON HIS LADY'S WAKING.

RONSARD,



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.



HIS LADY'S DEATH.

RONSARD,
1550.

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 than he can do ; desire
Is buried, and my heart a faded fire,

And for Death's sake, I am in love with Death.



\



22



HIS LADY'S TOMB.
RON SARD,

1550-

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.



SHADOWS OF HIS LADY.

JACQUES TAHUREAU,
I527 I555-

WITHIN the sand of what far river lies
The gold that gleams in tresses of my Love ?
What highest circle of the Heavens above
Is jewelled with such stars as are her eyes?
And where is the rich sea whose coral vies
With her red lips, that cannot kiss enough ?
What dawn-lit garden knew the rose, whereof
The fled soul lives in her cheeks' rosy guise ?

What Parian marble that is loveliest,

Can match the whiteness of her brow and breast ?

When drew she breath from the Sabasan glade?
O happy rock and river, sky and sea,
Gardens, and glades Sabaean, all that be

The far-off splendid semblance of my maid !



MOONLIGHT.

JACQUES TAHUREAU,

I527 I555-

THE high Midnight was garlanding her head
With many a shining star in shining skies,
And, of her grace, a slumber on mine eyes,

And, after sorrow, quietness was shed.
Far in dim fields cicalas jargoned

A thin shrill clamour of complaints and cries ;
And all the woods were pallid, in strange wise,
With pallor of the sad moon overspread.

Then came my lady to that lonely place,
And, from her palfrey stooping, did embrace
And hang upon my neck, and kissed me over;
Wherefore the day is far less dear than night,
And sweeter is the shadow than the light,
Since night has made me such a happy lover.



LOVE IN MAY.

PASSERAT,
1580.



FF with sleep, love, up from bed,

This fair morn ;
See, for our eyes the rosy red

New dawn is bom ;
Now that skies are glad and gay
In this gracious month of May,

Love me, sweet,

Fill my joy in brimming measure,
In this world he hath no pleasure,

That will none of it.

Come, love, through the woods of spring,

Come walk with me ;
Listen, the sweet birds jargoning

From tree to tree.
List and listen, over all
Nightingale most musical

That ceases never;
Grief begone, and let us be
For a space as glad as he ;

Time's flitting ever.

Old Time, that loves not lovers, wears

Wings swift in flight ;
All our happy life he bears

Far in the night.



26



Old and wrinkled on a day,
Sad and weary shall you say,

4 Ah, fool was I,

That took no pleasure in the grace
Of the flower that from my face

Time has seen die.'

Leave then sorrow, teen, and tears,

Till we be old;
Young we are, and of our years

Till youth be cold

Pluck the flower; while spring is gay
In this happy month of May

Love me, love;

Fill our joy in brimming measure;
In this world he hath no pleasure

That will none thereof.



THE GRAVE AND THE ROSE.



VICTOR HUGO.

THE Grave said to the Rose,
' What of the dews of dawn,
Love's flower, what end is theirs?'

'And what of spirits flown,
The souls whereon doth close

The tomb's mouth unawares?'
The Rose said to the Grave.

The Rose said, ' In the shade
From the dawn's tears is made

A perfume faint and strange,
Amber and honey sweet.'
'And all the spirits fleet

Do suffer a sky-change

More strangely than the dew,
To God's own angel's new,'

The Grave said to the Rose.



28



THE GENESIS OF BUTTERFLIES.

VICTOR HUGO.

THE dawn is smiling on the dew that covers
The tearful roses ; lo, the little lovers
That kiss the buds, and all the flutterings
In jasmine bloom, and privet, of white wings,
That go and come, and fly, and peep and hide,
With muffled music, murmured far and wide!
Ah, Spring time, when we think of all the lays
That dreamy lovers send to dreamy mays,
Of the fond hearts within a billet bound,
Of all the soft silk paper that pens wound,
The messages of love that mortals write
Filled with intoxication of delight,
Written in April, and before the May time
Shredded and flown, play things for the wind's playtime,
We dream that all white butterflies above,
Who seek through clouds or waters souls to love,
And leave their lady mistress in despair,
To flit to flowers, as kinder and more fair,
Are but torn love-letters, that through the skies
Flutter, and float, and change to Butterflies.



29



MORE STRONG THAN TIME.

VICTOR HUGO.

SINCE I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet,
Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid,
Since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it,
And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade ;

Since it was given to me to hear one happy while,
The words wherein your heart spoke all its mysteries,

Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you

smile,
Your lips upon my lips, and your eyes upon my eyes ;

Since I have known above my forehead glance and

gleam,

A ray, a single ray, of your star, veiled always,
Since I have felt the fall, upon my lifetime's stream,
Of one rose petal plucked from the roses of your
days;

I now am bold to say to the swift changing hours,
Pass, pass upon your way, for I grow never old,

Fleet to the dark abysm with all your fading flowers,
One rose that none may pluck, within my heart I
hold.

Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill
The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are wet ;

My heart has far more fire than you have frost to chill,
My soul more love than you can make my soul forget.



AN OLD TUNE.



GERARD DE NERVAL.

THHERE is an air for which I would disown
1 Mozart's, Rossini's, Weber's melodies,
A sweet sad air that languishes and sighs,
And keeps its secret charm for me alone.

Whene'er I hear that music vague and old,
Two hundred years are mist that rolls away;

The thirteenth Louis reigns, and I behold
A green land golden in the dying day.

An old red castle, strong with stony towers,
The windows gay with many coloured glass;

Wide plains, and rivers flowing among flowers,
That bathe the castle basement as they pass.

In antique weed, with dark eyes and gold hair,
A lady looks forth from her window high ;

It may be that I knew and found her fair,
In some forgotten life, long time gone by.



JUANA.

ALFRED DE MUSSET.

AGAIN I see you, ah my queen,
Of all my old loves that have been,
The first love, and the tenderest ;
Do you remember or forget
Ah me, for I remember yet

How the last summer days were blest ?

Ah lady, when we think of this,
The foolish hours of youth and bliss,

How fleet, how sweet, how hard to hold!
How old we are, ere spring be green !
You touch the limit of eighteen

And I am twenty winters old.


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Online LibraryAndrew LangBallads & lyrics of old France : with other poems → online text (page 1 of 4)