Carol and Cadence New poems: MDCCCCII-MDCCCCVII: By John Payne |
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THE POETS OF THE FRENCH RENAISSANCE. |
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 | Carol and Cadence |  |
THE POETS OF THE FRENCH RENAISSANCE.
Dead brothers, whom the world forgets,
— This crackbrain world of ours, that sets
The veriest vanities above
The eternal things of light and love,
From yours into our English tongue,
The songs, in days forgotten sung
Of you in your fair France of old,
I render, knowing that right gold
And true, through whatsoever mint
It pass, whatever stamp or print
It take, can be to otherwhat
Than very gold transmuted not.
— This crackbrain world of ours, that sets
The veriest vanities above
The eternal things of light and love,
From yours into our English tongue,
The songs, in days forgotten sung
Of you in your fair France of old,
I render, knowing that right gold
And true, through whatsoever mint
It pass, whatever stamp or print
It take, can be to otherwhat
Than very gold transmuted not.
You were of France, of England I:
Yet, under whatsoever sky
They harbour who their hearts to song
Have given for ever to belong,
Born were they under one same star
And citizens of one land are,
The land of love and lutany.
Nay, song no country hath, but free
Of all is, as the nightingale
In every language tells her tale;
The rose in every garden grows;
Yet everywhere it is the rose.
Yet, under whatsoever sky
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Have given for ever to belong,
Born were they under one same star
And citizens of one land are,
The land of love and lutany.
Nay, song no country hath, but free
Of all is, as the nightingale
In every language tells her tale;
The rose in every garden grows;
Yet everywhere it is the rose.
So, in your honour, brothers dear,
This sheaf of flowers, transplanted here
From where in sunny France they grew,
In English soil I set anew
And to your memory dedicate,
So, an it please fantastic Fate,
They may by this our sun and rain,
As erst in Anjou and Touraine,
As freely profit, all and some,
And thus, for many a year to come,
As fairly flourish in our air
As in the fields of France whilere.
This sheaf of flowers, transplanted here
From where in sunny France they grew,
In English soil I set anew
And to your memory dedicate,
So, an it please fantastic Fate,
They may by this our sun and rain,
As erst in Anjou and Touraine,
As freely profit, all and some,
And thus, for many a year to come,
As fairly flourish in our air
As in the fields of France whilere.
| Carol and Cadence | |