Pierre de Ronsard
Pierre de Ronsard Poems
- The Rose See, Mignonne, hath not the Rose, That this ...
- Roses I send you here a wreath of blossoms blown, And woven...
- To His Young Mistress Fair flower of fifteen springs, that ...
- Ladys Tomb As in the gardens, all through May, the rose, ...
- On His Ladies Waking My lady woke upon a morning fair, What...
- To The Moon Hide this one night thy crescent, kindly Moon; ...
- His Ladys Death Twain that were foes, while Mary lived, are ...
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
See, Mignonne, hath not the Rose,
That this morning 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, ...