Villonaud for This Yule

 Towards the Noel that morte saison 
(Christ make the shepherds' homage dear!)
Then when the grey wolves everychone 
Drink of the winds their chill small-beer 
And lap o' the snows food's gueredon 
Then makyth my heart his yule-tide cheer 
(Skoal! with the dregs if the clear be gone!)
Wineing the ghosts of yester-year.


Ask ye what ghost I dream upon? 
(What of the magians' scented gear?)
The ghosts of dead loves everyone 
That make the stark winds reek with fear 
Lest love return with the foison sun 
And slay the memories that me cheer 
(Such as I drink to mine fashion)
Wineing the ghosts of yester-year.


Where are the joys my heart had won? 
(Saturn and Mars to Zeus drawn near!)
Where are athe lips mine lay upon, 
Aye! where are the glances feat and clear 
That bade my heart his valor don?

I skoal to the eyes as grey-blown meer 
(Who knows whose was that paragon?)
Wineing the ghosts of yester-year.


Prince: ask me not what I have done 
Nor what God hath that can me cheer 
But ye ask first where the winds are gone 
Wineing the ghosts of yester-year.

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