SONNET DE RONSARD POUR HELENE. LIVRE II, NOS. XLII

                        When you, quite old, by night with candles, well
                        Up to the fire, wind skeins or spin, you’ll keep
                        Crooning my verse and, plunged in wonder deep,
                        Say “ Ronsard fames days when I was a belle.”
                        And you will have no servant hearing tell
                        Such news, though bowed with labour half-asleep,
                        But shall, at sound of Ronsard, waking leap,
                        Blessing your name by praise made durable.

                        I, under ground and with nor bones nor thew,
                        A shade shall rest near shadow myrtles; you
                        Will by the hearth, old, crouching, scarce be blithe,
                        My love, your proud disdain for constant sorrows.
                        Live now, believe me, wait for no to-morrows;
                        Pluck even to-day the roses of your life.

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