François Villon

François Villon Biography

François Villon was a French poet, thief, and vagabond. He is perhaps best known for his Testaments and his Ballade des Pendus, written while in prison. The question "Mais où sont les neiges d'antan?", taken from the Ballade des dames du temps jadis and translated by Dante Gabriel Rossetti as "Where are the snows of yesteryear?", is one of the most famous lines of translated secular poetry in the English-speaking world.

Life

Villon's real surname has been a matter of dispute; he has been called François de Montcorbier and François Des Loges and other names, though in literature Villon is the sole name used. Villon was born in 1431, almost certainly in Paris. The singular poems called Testaments, which form his chief if not his only certain work, are largely autobiographical.
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François Villon Comments

Maan Maan 01 December 2008

I want to know if it's francois villon who has the poem: 'I know everything except myself'

6 2 Reply
Hi 24 March 2021

Hi hi I love you

0 0 Reply
SareeMarcel 06 January 2019

Ahhhh what it would be like to be a notorious gang member and yet still write poems. #Respect

1 0 Reply
david 21 November 2018

Where is I know everything in the film himizu...

1 0 Reply
Fabrizio Frosini 14 February 2016

the best known French poet of the late Middle Ages.. and - probably- also a member of a wandering gang of thieves...

26 1 Reply
John Xavier 17 April 2012

It is Villon, in the French: Je connais tout fors que moi-mesme. I know everything except myself is certainly a good translation of the Villon line, which appears on more than one page of his work. John Xavier, M.A. (French) .

4 4 Reply

The Best Poem Of François Villon

The Ballad Of The Proverbs

So rough the goat will scratch, it cannot sleep.
So often goes the pot to the well that it breaks.
So long you heat iron, it will glow;
so heavily you hammer it, it shatters.
So good is the man as his praise;
so far he will go, and he's forgotten;
so bad he behaves, and he's despised.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.

So glib you talk, you end up in contradictions.
So good is your credit as the favors you got.
So much you promise that you will back out.
So doggedly you beg that your wish is granted;
so high climbs the price when you want a thing;
so much you want it that you pay the price;
so familiar it gets to you, you want it no more.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.

So, you love a dog. Then feed it!
So long a song will run that people learn it.
So long you keep the fruit, it will rot.
So hot the struggle for a spot that it is won;
so cool you keep your act that your spirit freezes;
so hurriedly you act that you run into bad luck;
so tight you embrace that your catch slips away.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.

So you scoff and laugh, and the fun is gone.
So you crave and spend, and lose your shirt.
So candid you are, no blow can be too low.
So good as a gift should a promise be.
So, if you love God, you obey the Church.
So, when you give much, you borrow much.
So, shifting winds turn to storm.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.

Prince, so long as a fool persists, he grows wiser;
so, round the world he goes, but return he will,
so humbled and beaten back into servility.
So loud you cry Christmas, it is here.

François Villon Popularity

François Villon Popularity

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