The Oxford Book of French Verse

by St. John Lucas (Editor)

This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the original. Due to its age, it may contain imperfections such as marks, notations, marginalia and flawed pages. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions that are true to the original work.

Genres: Poetry, Classics, France

553 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1907

About the author

St. John Lucas (1879–1934) was an English poet.

Reviews

[Ulysse · Rating 5 out of 5]

I can think of things far worse
Than perusing like a hawk
The Oxford book of French Verse

I could waste my time on Tik Tok
Posting silly videos
Of dogs doing the moonwalk

I could stare at embryos
Drown myself in candy-bars
Eat bracelets of cheerios

Glare at girls from behind bars
But would I have half as much fun
As with these poet superstars?

There’s François Villon for one
Who could sing a mean ballad
And by the time he was done

All others would seem pallid
And how about Pierre Ronsard
Whose work was one great salad

Grown profuse in the backyards
Of ancient Roman villas?
Liking him is not too hard

Another son of Hellas
Young Joachim du Bellay
He'll simply try to kill us

By yearning for yesterday
But these two men are nothing
Compared to Louise Labé

Her sonnets were like clothing
Conceived to be taken off
Beautiful and never boring

Malherbe whom ego did puff
Took hold of a pair of shears
And eradicated fluff

Though forgotten many years
Saint-Amant Régnier L’Hermite
Should be remembered the dears

In France you would be dead meat
If you did not know by heart
And recite tapping your feet

Fables versified with art
By one Jean de la Fontaine
Bewigged and ruffled upstart

The next hundred years retain
Not one name of any worth
Every poet appears inane

Perhaps the Muse could not give birth?
French poetry did revive
Following so long a dearth

In eighteen-hundred-twenty-five
When Victor Hugo fell in love
With his Muse and felt alive

Since then he wrote thousands of
Unforgettable verses
You can thank the stars above

Next comes the age of hearses
Baudelaire and all his chums
With always empty purses

Who at life would bite their thumbs
Verlaine Rimbaud and Corbières
Theirs were the best dum-de-dums

After that Apollinaire
Is my all-time favourite
With him I fly through the air

In a plane and savour it

[Lisa of Troy]

A Book Owned by F. Scott Fitzgerald: https://static-prod.lib.princeton.edu...