Literary Roses 2

With 'Pierre de Ronsard' David Austen in my garden

three sonnets of ronsard

COMME ON VOIT SUR LA BRANCHE

As one sees on its branch, in May, the rose 
In its bright youth and new astonishment,
Making the heavens jealous of its tint 
When, touched with dew, in the first light it glows, 
Then, in its petal, grace and love repose,
Filling the gardens and the trees with scent; 
But, scourged by the sun's heat, by the rain bent,
Drooping, it dies: petal from petal blows.

So your bright youth, which earth and heaven adore, 
Lies now in ashes, for no love can strive 
Against the murdering Fate. For obsequy, 
Receive my tears, this vase of milk I pour, 
This basket full of flowers, so that alive
And dead, your body shall all roses be.

SOURCE: Poetry, (January 1955)
Via Poetry Foundation