Pierre de Ronsard
Born
in Couture-sur-Loir, France
December 12, 1523
Died
December 28, 1585
Genre
|
Les Amours
—
published
1552
—
67 editions
|
|
|
Mignonne allons voir si la rose et autres poèmes: suivi d'un parcours sur la poésie amoureuse (Classiques & Cie Lycée (105)) (French Edition)
by |
|
|
Sonnets pour Hélène
—
published
1578
—
18 editions
|
|
|
Ronsard: Poèmes
by
—
published
1995
—
2 editions
|
|
|
Selected Poems
by
—
published
1585
—
7 editions
|
|
|
Поезия / Poésies
by |
|
|
Cassandra
by
—
published
2015
—
2 editions
|
|
|
Les Quatre Saisons
—
published
1985
—
3 editions
|
|
|
Discours - Derniers vers
—
published
1999
—
5 editions
|
|
|
Poésies choisies
—
published
1989
—
11 editions
|
|
“Haleine contre haleine, échauffe-moi la vie,
Mille et mille baisers donne-moi je te prie,
Amour veut tout sans nombre, amour n’a point de loi
Translated: Breath against breath warms my life.
A thousand kisses give me I pray thee.
Love says it all without number,
love knows no law.”
―
Mille et mille baisers donne-moi je te prie,
Amour veut tout sans nombre, amour n’a point de loi
Translated: Breath against breath warms my life.
A thousand kisses give me I pray thee.
Love says it all without number,
love knows no law.”
―
“Mignonne, allons voir si la rose
Qui ce matin avait declose
Sa robe de pourpre au soleil,
A point perdu cetter verpree,
Les plis de sa robe pourpree,
Et son teint au votre pareil”
― Les amours
Qui ce matin avait declose
Sa robe de pourpre au soleil,
A point perdu cetter verpree,
Les plis de sa robe pourpree,
Et son teint au votre pareil”
― Les amours
“When you are old, at evening candle-lit
beside the fire bending to your wool,
read out my verse and murmur, "Ronsard writ
this praise for me when I was beautiful."
And not a maid but, at the sound of it,
though nodding at the stitch on broidered stool,
will start awake, and bless love's benefit
whose long fidelities bring Time to school.
I shall be thin and ghost beneath the earth
by myrtle shade in quiet after pain,
but you, a crone, will crouch beside the hearth
mourning my love and all your proud disdain.
And since what comes to-morrow who can say?
Live, pluck the roses of the world to-day.”
― Sonnets pour Hélène
beside the fire bending to your wool,
read out my verse and murmur, "Ronsard writ
this praise for me when I was beautiful."
And not a maid but, at the sound of it,
though nodding at the stitch on broidered stool,
will start awake, and bless love's benefit
whose long fidelities bring Time to school.
I shall be thin and ghost beneath the earth
by myrtle shade in quiet after pain,
but you, a crone, will crouch beside the hearth
mourning my love and all your proud disdain.
And since what comes to-morrow who can say?
Live, pluck the roses of the world to-day.”
― Sonnets pour Hélène































