My lady woke upon a morning fair, What time Apollo's chariot takes the skies, And, fain to fill with arrows from her eyes His empty quiver, Love was standing there: I saw two apples that her breast doth bear None such the close of the Hesperides Yields; nor hath Venus any such as these, Nor she that had of nursling Mars the care.
Even such a bosom, and so fair it was, Pure as the perfect work of Phidias, That sad Andromeda's discomfiture Left bare, when Perseus passed her on a day, And pale as Death for fear of Death she lay, With breast as marble cold, as marble pure.
- by Pierre de Ronsard13
All take these lips away; no more, No more such kisses give to me. My spirit faints for joy; I see Through mists of death the dreamy shore, And meadows by the water-side, Where all about the Hollow Land Fare the sweet singers that have died, With their lost ladies, hand in hand; Ah, Love, how fireless are their eyes, How pale their lips that kiss and smile! So mine must be in little while If thou wilt kiss me in such wise.
Poems by Pierre de Ronsard, Pierre de Ronsard's poems collection. Pierre de Ronsard is a classical and famous poet . Share all poems of Pierre de Ronsard.