Formes Fixes

Rondeau

I never could be so silly
as to pretend
to aim to come near such beauty.

Your smile is the sway of lily,
made to transcend.

I never could be so silly
as to pretend.

Your laugh is a dancing filly.
I comprehend
the sorrow of concrete duty.

I never could be so silly
as to pretend
to aim to come near such beauty.


Ballade

When I am dead, I know what you will say.
You will think you were wanted to forestall
all of the blood I spilt in disarray
over the table, strewn about the hall,
but you are wrong. I tell you I will fall
whether you leave or truly mean to stay.
I know it frightens. I know what I ought.
You are afraid whenever I recall
any of many whispers I forgot.

Now, while I live, they crawl across the floor,
whispering lies that tell me of the sky,
whispering truths that tell me I’m a whore,
coming in pain, and sweetly asking why.
It’s not your fault that I must choose to die.
Do not believe when whispers underscore
all of the hints a good man might have caught.
It is my choice to kill what I abhor.
It is my fate to do what you cannot.


Virelai

When I swore I would be true,
I did not mean to pursue
that old dead thing, which anew
has sprung up and grown awry.

Now my heart is all askew,
and I review
any virtue I defy.

If you saw that I withdrew
and wondered who
(or perhaps you wondered why),

do not ask me; if you do,
I will surely show to you
all the feeling I subdue
and the passion I deny.

When I swore I would be true,
I did not mean to pursue
the old dead thing, which anew
has sprung up and grown awry.