When I started posting poems, I liked the idea of a blog because I could post in any order, and use the tabs at the top to organise the poems into sets. It’s about time I got back to that ideal of posting random poems I like, and then worrying about the gaps later. So here’s the first of a series of random poems!
How about starting with Ronsard’s epitaph for himself. This comes from the collection published as Ronsard’s ‘last verses’. Note: I am not claiming that ‘Ronsard rests here’ on this blog 🙂Ronsard repose icy qui hardy dés enfance Détourna d’Helicon les Muses en la France, Suivant le son du Luth et les traits d’Apollon : Mais peu valut sa Muse encontre l’eguillon De la mort, qui cruelle en ce tombeau l’enserre, Son ame soit à Dieu, son corps soit à la terre. Ronsard lies here, who, bold from childhood Turned the Muses aside from Helicon and towards France, Following the sound of the lute and Apollo’s darts: But little worth was his muse against the prick Of death, who cruelly sealed him in this tomb: May his soul belong to God, his body to the earth.