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.
Pierre de RonsardWhen you are very old, and sit in the candle - light at evening spinning by the fire, you will say, as you murmur my verses, a wonder in your eyes, 'Ronsard sang of me in the days when I was fair.
Pierre de RonsardGather, gather your youth: Just like this flower, old age Your beauty will wither.
Pierre de Ronsard