Classic Poem

(Ballade pour servir de conclusion)

Here is closed the Testament
And finished of poor Villon.
Let your steps to his grave be bent
When you hear the carillon.
Vesture of crimson don,
For a martyr of love lies low.
So swore he on his callon
When he turned from the world to go.

And I know what he said he meant,
Nor lied, who from love was spun
Like a ball and a wanderer went
From Paris to Rousillon.
Leaving a rag upon
Each hedge for the wind to blow,
So he swore ere his breath was gone,
When he turned from the world to go.

And so, with his last sou spent,
He finished his race anon.
Whilst yet for his soul's torment
Love's arrow still spread poison
In his heart, which was heavy un done;
And such was his dying woe
We wondered as looked we on
When he turned from the world to go.

ENVOI

Yet, Prince, in his dying swoon
He turned to the red wine's glow,
And he drank the red wine down
When he turned from the world to go.