Pierre de Ronsard
Pierre de Ronsard Poems
- Roses I send you here a wreath of blossoms blown, And woven...
- The Rose See, Mignonne, hath not the Rose, That this ...
- To His Young Mistress Fair flower of fifteen springs, that ...
- On His Ladies Waking My lady woke upon a morning fair, What...
- To The Moon Hide this one night thy crescent, kindly Moon; ...
- Deadly Kisses All take these lips away; no more, No more ...
- Ladys Tomb As in the gardens, all through May, the rose, ...
Pierre de Ronsard (11 September 1524 – 28 December 1585) was a French poet and "prince of poets" (as his own generation in France called him).
Pierre de Ronsard was born at the Manoir de la Possonnière, in the village of Couture-sur-Loir, Vendômois (in present-day Loir-et-Cher). Baudouin de Ronsard or Rossart was the founder of the French branch of the house, and made his mark... more »
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Comments about Pierre de Ronsard
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 ...