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,
For length of days will tarnish it
Like roses that were loveliest.
Pierre de Ronsard's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Rose by Pierre de Ronsard )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- Copy Paper, Edgar Albert Guest
- Autumn Evenings, Edgar Albert Guest
- The Lost Purse, Edgar Albert Guest
- Mother's Party Dress, Edgar Albert Guest
- The Comedian, Edgar Albert Guest
- The Evening Prayer, Edgar Albert Guest
- Thoughts Of A Father, Edgar Albert Guest
- His Dog, Edgar Albert Guest
- Living Flowers, Edgar Albert Guest
- The Old Timer Pallas'Cat - Lincoln Park .., Ima Ryma