Pierre de Ronsard - To Hélène lyrics

When you are very old, by candle's flame, Spinning beside the fire, at the end of day, Singing my verse, admiring, you will say: “When I was fair, Ronsard's muse I become." Your servant then, some weary old beldame- Whoever she may be- nodding away, Hearing “Ronsard.” Will shake off sleep, and pray Your name will be blessed, to live in d**hless fame. Buried, I shall a fleshless phantom be, Hovering by the shadowed myrtle tree; You, by the hearth, a pining crone, bent low, Whose pride once scorned my love, much to you sorrow. Heed me, live for today, wait not the morrow: Gather life's roses while still fresh they grow.