Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON HIS CHOICE OF A GRAVE, by PIERRE DE RONSARD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON HIS CHOICE OF A GRAVE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Caves, and streames that downward slyde
Last Line: Sprynge is faire.
Subject(s): Cemeteries; Death; Graveyards; Dead, The


CAVES, and streames that downward slyde
From the rockye mountain syde,
That toward the ground belowe
Fall and flowe;

And ye waves and forests greene
By meanderynge meadows seene,
And ye banks, and boughs that wave,
Hark my stave!

When both Heav'n and Tyme decyde
I no longer maye abyde,
But must hence be borne awaye
From the daye,

I forbid that men should break
Costlye marble for my sake,
Vainlye a faire stone to have
For my grave.

But in marble's stead a tree
I would have to shadowe me,
Wherupon the boughs are seene
Ever greene.

From my bodye maye there sprynge
Ivye roots and stems that clynge,
And about me be enwound
Round and round.

Maye the tendrils of the vine
Twist about this grave of myne,
Sheddynge lightly everywhere
Shadowes spare.

Maye the shepherds keep for aye
Every yeare my festal daye;
Maye both laddes and lambes be founde
Nigh my mounde.

Then the offys dulye said
And their tribute renderéd,
Maye they hail my shade and saye
In this waye:

"What renowne is thyne, O fane
Since within thy mound is lain
Him whose verses everywhere
Fill the aire!

"Him who whyle he dwelt with us
Never once grew envioús
Of the honours of the great
Lords of state.

"Naye, nor ever taught th' abuse
Of love's potion, nor the use
Of the art with magic blent
Ancïent;

"But bye meadoweland and wood
Showed the sacred Sisterhood
Tramplynge thro' the grasses tall
To his call.

"For he made from out his lyre
Such accordant sounds suspire,
Hallow'd with melodious words
Fields and herds.

"Maye sweet manna aye be shed
Where he nowe lies buriéd,
And the dewy balms that swaye
Nights in Maye.

"Round about him maye there sprynge
Grass, and waters murmurynge,
Ever green be one, and one
Flowynge on.

"We rememberynge his soe great
Fame doe yearly dedicate
Rites that else we doe assigne
Pan divine."

Thus shall shepherd laddes declare
Pourynge manye cupfuls there
O'er me in a mingled flood,
Milk, and blood

Of their youngest lamb, whyle I
In my new abode shall lie
Where the ransomed spirits meet
Joy complete.

Neither hail nor chillye snowe
To those regions can win thro',
There noe thunder-bolts accurst
Ever burst.

But for ever there doth last
Undespoil'd of blight or blast
Verdure; and for ever there
Sprynge is faire.





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