Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SPRING LOVE-SONG, by PIERRE DE RONSARD



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SPRING LOVE-SONG, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: When the beauteous spring I see
Last Line: Making all our passion vain.
Subject(s): Birth; Earth; Hearts; Love; Singing & Singers; Spring; Child Birth; Midwifery; World


WHEN the beauteous Spring I see,
Glad and free,
Making young the sea and earth,
Then the light of day above
And our love
Seem but newly brought to birth.

When the sky of deeper blue
Lights anew
Lands more beautiful and green,
Love, with witching looks for darts,
Wars on hearts,
Winning them for his demesne.

Scattering his arrows dire
Tipped with fire,
He doth bring beneath his sway
Men and birds and beasts for slaves --
And the waves
To his power obeisance pay. . . .

Nature, for Love's triumphing,
In the Spring
Thrills my heart at every breath
By new beauties everywhere
Which her care
From my Lady borroweth:

When I see the woodland bowers
Bright with flowers,
And the banks with flowers bedight,
Then methinks I see the grace
Of her face
Fair with blended red and white;

When I see elm-branches bound
Close around
Where the loving ivies wind,
Then I feel encompassing
Arms that cling
Fast about my neck entwined;

When I hear thee in the vale,
Nightingale,
Uttering thy sweetest voice,
Then methinks her voice I hear,
Low and clear,
Making all my soul rejoice;

When the soft wind comes anon
Murmuring on
Through the many-branched grove,
Then I hear the murmured word
That I heard
Once alone beside my love;

When I see a new-blown flower's
Earliest hours
By the morning sun caressed,
Then its beauty I compare
To the rare
Budding beauty of her breast;

When the sun in Orient skies
'Gins to rise,
Flaunting free his yellow hair,
Then methinks my sweet I see
Fronting me,
Binding up her tresses fair;

When I see the meadows studded
With new-budded
Flowers that overflow the earth,
Then my senses half believe
They receive
Honeyed fragrance from her breath.

So it proveth, howsoe'er
I compare
Spring-time with my chosen one.
Spring gives life to every flower --
Life and power
Come to me from her alone.

Would 'twere mine, where streamlets flow
Whispering low,
To unbind that wealth of hair,
Then to wind as many a curl
As there purl
Running rippling wavelets there.

Would 'twere mine to be the god
Of this wood,
So to seize and hold my love,
Kissing her as oft again
As there ben
Greening leaves in all the grove. . . .

Ah, my sweet, my martyrdom,
Hither come,
See the flowers how they fare.
They to pity me are fain --
Of my pain
Thou alone hast not a care.

See the gentle mating dove
And his love,
How they win the joy we seek,
How they love as Nature bade
Unafraid,
How they kiss with wings and beak,

While we, following honor's shade,
Have betrayed
Joy, through fear and coward shame.
Ah! the birds are happier far
Than we are,
Loving without let or blame.

Time is hasting to destroy
All our joy,
Snatching it with harpy claws.
Sweetheart, let us live and love
Like the dove,
Heeding not men's rigorous laws.

Kiss me, ere the moment slips,
On my lips,
O my love, and yet again
Kiss me, ere our youth's brief day
Fleet away,
Making all our passion vain.





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