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"WHEN I SAW YOU LAST, ROSE"

WHEN I Saw you last, Rose,

You were only so high;-
How fast the time goes!

Like a bud ere it blows,
You just peeped at the sky,
When I saw you last, Rose!

Now your petals unclose,
Now your May-time is nigh;-
How fast the time goes!

And a life, how it grows!
You were scarcely so shy,
When I saw you last, Rose!

In your bosom it shows
There's a guest on the sly;
(How fast the time goes!)

Is it Cupid? Who knows!
Yet you used not to sigh,
When I saw you last, Rose;—

How fast the time goes!

Austin Dobson [1840

URCEUS EXIT

I INTENDED an Ode,

And it turned to a Sonnet.

It began à la mode,

I intended an Ode;

But Rose crossed the road

In her latest new bonnet;

I intended an Ode;

And it turned to a Sonnet.
Austin Dobson [1840-

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THIS kiss upon your fan I press

Ah! Sainte Nitouche, you don't refuse it!

And may it from its soft recess―

This kiss upon your fan I press→→→→
Be blown to you, a shy caress,

By this white down, whene'er you use it.
This kiss upon your fan I press,——

Ah, Sainte Nitouche, you don't refuse it!

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FROM THE FRENCH OF FRANÇOIS VILLON 1450

TELL me now in what hidden way is
Lady Flora the lovely Roman?
Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais,
Neither of them the fairer woman?

*For the original of this poem see page 3837.

Where is Echo, beheld of no man,

Only heard on river and merc,

She whose beauty was more than human? . But where are the snows of yester-year?

Where's Héloise, the learned nun,

For whose sake Abeilard, I ween,

Lost manhood and put priesthood on?
(From Love he won such dule and teen!)

And where, I pray you, is the Queen

Who willed that Buridan should steer

...

Sewed in a sack's mouth down the Seine? . . . But where are the snows of yester-year?

White Queen Blanche, like a queen of lilies,
With a voice like any mermaiden,-
Bertha Broadfoot, Beatrice, Alice,

And Ermengarde the lady of Maine,—-
And that good Joan whom Englishmen
At Rouen doomed and burned her there,-
Mother of God, where are they then?
But where are the snows of yester-year?

Nay, never ask this week, fair lord,

Where they are gone, nor yet this year,

Except with this for an overword,

But where are the snows of yester-year?

Dante Gabriel Rossetti [1828-1882]

BALLADE OF DEAD LADIES

AFTER VILLON

NAY, tell me now in what strange air
The Roman Flora dwells to-day,
Where Archippiada hides, and where
Beautiful Thais has passed away?
Whence answers Echo, afield, astray,
By mere or stream,--around, below?
Lovelier she than a woman of clay;
Nay, but where is the last year's snow?

A Ballad of Dead Ladies

Where is wise Héloïse, that care
Brought on Abeilard, and dismay?
All for her love he found a snare,
A maimed poor monk in orders gray;
And where's the Queen who willed to slay
Buridan, that in a sack must go

Afloat down Scine, a perilous way—
Nay, but where is the last year's snow?

Where's that White Queen, a lily rare,
With her sweet song, the Siren's lay?
Where's Bertha Broad-foot, Beatrice fair?
Alys and Ermengarde, where are they?
Good Joan, whom English did betray
In Rouen town, and burned her? No,
Maiden and Queen, no man may say;
Nay, but where is the last year's snow?

1785

ENVOY

Prince, all this week thou needst not pray,
Nor yet this year the thing to know.
One burden answers, ever and aye,

"Nay, but where is the last year's snow?"

Andrew Lang [(1844-1912]

A BALLAD OF DEAD LADIES

AFTER VILLON

From "If I Were King"

I WONDER in what Isle of Bliss

Apollo's music fills the air;

In what green valley Artemis

For young Endymion spreads the snare:
Where Venus lingers debonair:

The Wind has blown them all away

And Pan lies piping in his lair

Where are the Gods of Yesterday?

Say where the great Semiramis

Sleeps in a rose-red tomb; and where The precious dust of Caesar is,

Or Cleopatra's yellow hair:

Where Alexander Do-and-Dare; The Wind his blown them all awayAnd Redbeard of the Iron Chair; Where are the Dreams of Yesterday?

Where is the Queen of Herod's kiss,
And Phryne in her beauty bare;
By what strange sea does Tomyris
With Dido and Cassandra share
Divine Proserpina's despair;
The Wind has blown them all away—
For what poor ghost does Helen care?
Where are the Girls of Yesterday?

ENVOY

Alas for lovers! Pair by pair

The Wind has blown them all away: The young and yare, the fond and fair: Where are the Snows of Yesterday? Justin Huntly McCarthy [1860

IF I WERE KING

AFTER VILLON

From "If I Were King"

ALL French folk, whereso'er ye be,

Who love your country, sail and sand, From Paris to the Breton sea,

And back again to Norman strand, Forsooth ye seem a silly band, Sheep without shepherd, left to chanceFar otherwise our Fatherland,

If Villon were the King of France!

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