Francois Villon Poems

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 WRITTEN FOR HIS MOTHER 

Dame du ciel, regents terrienne, 
Emperiere des infemaux palus.... 

Lady of Heaven and earth, and therewithal 
Crowned Empress of the nether clefts of Hell,—

I, thy poor Christian, on thy name do call, 
Commending me to thee, with thee to dwell, 
Albeit in nought I be commendable. 

But all mine undeserving may not mar 
Such mercies...Read more of this...

 Freres humains qui apres nous vivez, 
N'ayez les coeurs contre nous endurcis ... 
Men, brother men, that after us yet live, 
Let not your hearts too hard against us be; 
For if some pity of us poor men ye give, 
The sooner God shall take of you pity. 
Here are we five or six strung up, you see, 
And...Read more of this...

 Men my brothers who after us live,
have your hearts against us not hardened.
For—if of poor us you take pity,
God of you sooner will show mercy.
You see us here, attached.
As for the flesh we too well have fed,
long since it's been devoured or has rotted.
And we the bones are becoming ash and dust.

Of our pain let nobody laugh,
but pray God
...Read more of this...

 So rough the goat will scratch, it cannot sleep.
So often goes the pot to the well that it breaks.
So long you heat iron, it will glow;
so heavily you hammer it, it shatters.
So good is the man as his praise;
so far he will go, and he's forgotten;
so bad he behaves, and he's despised.
So loud you cry Christmas, it comes.

So glib...Read more of this...

 Who's that I hear?—It's me—Who?—Your heart
Hanging on by the thinnest thread
I lose all my strength, substance, and fluid
When I see you withdrawn this way all alone
Like a whipped cur sulking in the corner
Is it due to your mad hedonism?—
What's it to you?—I have to suffer for it—
Leave me alone—Why?—I'll think about it—
When will you do that?—When I've grown up—
I've...Read more of this...