Classic Poem

(Ballade de Villon a s'amye)

False beauty, that has cost me dear,
Rude in effect, deceiving sweet,
Love that is more than steel severe,
Name whose letters spell my defeat.
Ruinous charms that my heart did eat,
Pride that kills men cruelly,
Pitiless eyes, will her heart not yet
Turn from disdain and succour me?

Better for me to seek elsewhere;
Well I know that, when at her feet,
Love I can drop no more than care;
Sure 'tis no shame to make retreat.
Haro! unto the small and great
I cry for help, but none I see.
I die, unless that she regret,
Turn from disdain and succour me.

Yet time will yellow turn and sere
Thy face, now like a rose complete.
Then at its running I shall jeer —
But no — for age, that all must meet,
Will have me too; so ere the heat
Of summer is past and winter be —
And whilst thy beauty still doth wait —
Turn from disdain and succour me.

ENVOI

True Prince of Love, who from thy seat
Over all lovers hath empiry,
This prayer for all true hearts is meet:
Turn from disdain and succour me.