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.
Love wants everything without condition, love has no law.
Live now, believe me, wait not till tomorrow; Gather the roses of life today.
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.
Gather, gather your youth: Just like this flower, old age Your beauty will wither.