Ballad of the Gibbet

Francois Villon (1431-1489)

Brothers and men that shall after us be,

Let not your hearts be hard to us:
For pitying this our misery
Ye shall find God the more piteous.
Look on us six that are hanging thus,
And for the flesh that so much we cherished
How it is eaten of birds and perished,
And ashes and dust fill our bones’ place,
Mock not at us that so feeble be,
But pray God pardon us out of his grace.
Listen we pray you, and look not in scorn,
Though justly, in sooth, we are cast to die;
Ye wot no man so wise is born
That keeps his wisdom constantly.

Be ye then merciful, and cry

To Mary’s Son that is piteous,
That his mercy take no stain from us,
Saving us out of the fiery place.
We are but dead, let no soul deny
To pray God succor us of His grace.
The rain out of heaven has washed us clean,
The sun has scorched us black and bare,
Ravens and rooks have pecked at our eyne,
And feathered their nests with our beards
And hair.

Round are we tossed, and here and there,

This way and that, at the wild wind’s will,
Never a moment my body is still;
Birds they are busy about my face.
Live not as we, not fare as we fare;
Pray God pardon us out of His grace.
L'envoy

Prince Jesus, Master of all, to thee

We pray Hell gain no mastery,
That we come never anear that place;
And ye men, make no mockery,
Pray God, pardon us out of His grace.
Ballad of the Cool Fountain
Anonymous Spanish poetess (15th century)

Fountain, coolest fountain,

Cool fountain of love,
Where all the sweet birds come
For comforting–but one,
A widow turtledove,
Sadly sorrowing.
At once the nightingale,
That wicked bird, came by,
And spoke these honied words:
"My lady, if you will,
I shall be your slave."
"You are my enemy:
Begone, you are not true!
Green boughs no longer rest me,
Nor any budding grove.
Clear springs, where there are such,
Turn muddy at my touch.
I want no spouse to love
Nor any children either.
I forego that pleasure
And their comfort too.
No, leave me; you are false
And wicked–vile, untrue!
I’ll never be your mistress!
I’ll never marry you!"
From The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)

It is an ancient Mariner,

And he stoppeth one of three.

"By thy long gray beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The Bridegroom’s doors are opened wide,

And I am next of kin;

The guests are met, the feast is set:
May'st hear the merry din."

He holds him with his skinny hand,

"There was a ship," quoth he.

"Hold off! Unhand me, gray-beard loon!"
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He holds him with his glittering eye–

The Wedding-Guest stood still,

And listens like a three years’ child:
The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:

He cannot choose but hear;

And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

The ship was cheered, the harbor cleared,

Merrily did we drop

Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.
Matsuo Basho

Here are three examples of haiku poems from Basho Matsuo (1644-1694),
considered the greatest haiku poet:

An old silent pond...

A frog jumps into the pond,

splash! Silence again.

Autumn moonlight-

a worm digs silently

into the chestnut.

In the twilight rain

these brilliant-hued hibiscus -

A lovely sunset.
 Didactic form:

Strawberries

Ripe, juicy

Beckoning, Dripping, Biting

A herald of springtime.

Fruit

Didactic form:

Computer

Cold, silent

Thinking, Producing, Calculating

Smarter than me, maybe?

Unfeeling
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good
Night
Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 The Home on the Hill
Edward Arlington Robinson (1869-1935)

They are all gone away,

The house is shut and still,

There is nothing more to say

Through broken walls and gray,

The wind blows bleak and shrill,

They are all gone away

Nor is there one today,

To speak them good or ill

There is nothing more to say

Why is it then we stray

Around the sunken sill?

They are all gone away

And our poor fancy play

For them is wasted skill,

There is nothing more to say

There is ruin and decay

In the House on the Hill:

They are all gone away,

There is nothing more to say.

A look at memorable limericks, each with five lines and an aabba rhyme scheme,
clearly shows their intended audiences, as well as the bawdiness, nonsense, humor,
and delightful storytelling simplicity of the form.

There was an Old Man of Nantucket

Who kept all his cash in a bucket.
His daughter, called Nan,
Ran away with a man,
And as for the bucket, Nantucket.
- Anonymous

There was a young lady of Lucca

Whose lovers completely forsook her;
She ran up a tree
And said "Fiddle-de-dee!"
Which embarrassed the people of Lucca.
- Edward Lear
Sonnet 55: Not marble nor the gilded
monuments
BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Not marble nor the gilded monuments

Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme,
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone besmeared with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war’s quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
’Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the Judgement that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers’ eyes.

Sonnet 29: When, in disgrace with fortune and

men’s eyes
When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.