Villanelle
Sprung from a sword-sheath fit for Mars,
Straight and sharp, of a gay glad green,
My jonquil lifts its yellow stars.
Barter, would I, for the dross of the Czars,
These golden flowers and buds fifteen,
Sprung from a sword-sheath fit for Mars?
Barter, would you, these scimitars,
Among which lit by their light so keen
My jonquil lifts its yellow stars?
No, for the breast may burst its bars,
The heart its shell, at sight of sheen
Sprung from a sword-sheath fit for Mars:
Miles away from the mad earth's jars,
Beneath a leafy and shining screen,
My jonquil lifts its yellow stars.
And I — self-scathed with mortal scars,
I weep, when I see, in its radiant mien,
Sprung from a sword-sheath fit for Mars
My jonquil lift its yellow stars.
Straight and sharp, of a gay glad green,
My jonquil lifts its yellow stars.
Barter, would I, for the dross of the Czars,
These golden flowers and buds fifteen,
Sprung from a sword-sheath fit for Mars?
Barter, would you, these scimitars,
Among which lit by their light so keen
My jonquil lifts its yellow stars?
No, for the breast may burst its bars,
The heart its shell, at sight of sheen
Sprung from a sword-sheath fit for Mars:
Miles away from the mad earth's jars,
Beneath a leafy and shining screen,
My jonquil lifts its yellow stars.
And I — self-scathed with mortal scars,
I weep, when I see, in its radiant mien,
Sprung from a sword-sheath fit for Mars
My jonquil lift its yellow stars.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.