When you are old, at evening candlelit, Beside the fire bending to your wool, Read out my verse and murmur, "Ronsard writ This praise for me when I was beautiful.

Gather, gather your youth: Just like this flower, old age Your beauty will wither.

Love wants everything without condition, love has no law.

My guitar, I sing of thee 'Tis with thee that I decoy And ensnare enchantingly the ladies I enjoy.

Thousands and thousands of colors paint the bosom of the earth so gaily.

Live now, believe me, wait not till tomorrow; Gather the roses of life today.

Gather the roses of life today.