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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

CHANSON WITHOUT MUSIC by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

Poet Analysis

First Line: YOU BID ME SING, - CAN I FORGET
Last Line: "DUM ILLE CLAMAT, ""DOS POU STO!"
Subject(s): LANGUAGE; WORDS; VOCABULARY;
BY THE PROFESSOR EMERITUS OF DEAD
AND LIVE LANGUAGES

YOU bid me sing, -- can I forget
The classic ode of days gone by, --
How belle Fifine and jeune Lisette
Exclaimed, "Anacreon, geron ei"?
"Regardez donc," those ladies said, --
"You're getting bald and wrinkled too:
When summer's roses all are shed,
Love's nullum ite, voyez-vous!"

In vain ce brave Anacreon's cry,
"Of Love alone my banjo sings"
(Erota mounon). "Etiam si, --
Eh b'en?" replied the saucy things, --
"Go find a maid whose hair is gray,
And strike your lyre, -- we sha'n't complain:
But parce nobis, s'il vous plait, --
Voila Adolphe! Voila Eugene!"

Ah, jeune Lisette! Ah, belle Fifine!
Anacreon's lesson all must learn;
O kairos oxus; Spring is green,
But Acer Hyems waits his turn!
I hear you whispering from the dust,
"Tiens, mon cher, c'est toujours so, --
The brightest blade grows dim with rust,
The fairest meadow white with snow!"

You do not mean it! Not encore?
Another string of playday rhymes?
You've heard me -- nonne est? -- before,
Multoties, -- more than twenty times;
Non possum, -- vraiment, -- pas du tout,
I cannot! I am loath to shirk;
But who will listen if I do,
My memory makes such shocking work?

Ginosko. Scio. Yes, I'm told
Some ancients like my rusty lay,
As Grandpa Noah loved the old
Red-sandstone march of Jubal's day.
I used to carol like the birds,
But time my wits has quite unfixed,
Et quoad verba, -- for my words, --
Ciel! Eheu! Whe-ew! -- how they're mixed!

Mehercle! Zeu! Diable! how
My thoughts were dressed when I was young,
But tempus fugit! see them now
Half clad in rags of every tongue!
O philoi, fratres, chers amis!
I dare not court the youthful Muse,
For fear her sharp response should be,
"Papa Anacreon, please excuse!"

Adieu! I've trod my annual track
How long! -- let others count the miles, --
And peddled out my rhyming pack
To friends who always paid in smiles.
So, laissez-moi! some youthful wit
No doubt has wares he wants to show;
And I am asking, "Let me sit,"
Dum ille clamat, "Dos pou sto!"



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