Jean-François Millet: Villanelle
O MASTER of the Old and New !
We speak thy name with bated breath;
Thy waking years were all too few.
We speak thy name with bated breath;
Thy waking years were all too few.
With airs that erst in Athens blew
Thy toil’s full harvest murmureth,
O Master of the Old and New !
Thy toil’s full harvest murmureth,
O Master of the Old and New !
In misty pastures, dim with dew,
Thy sad, strong spirit slumbereth;
Thy waking years were all too few.
Thy sad, strong spirit slumbereth;
Thy waking years were all too few.
The forms thy potent pencil drew
On sunset light move strong as Death,
O Master of the Old and New!
On sunset light move strong as Death,
O Master of the Old and New!
The sowing seasons turn anew,
And toiling man continueth;
Thy waking years were all too few.
And toiling man continueth;
Thy waking years were all too few.
Dark Arcus veils thee from our view
On vast, low meadow-lands of Death,
O Master of the Old and New!
On vast, low meadow-lands of Death,
O Master of the Old and New!
Now men their tardy laurels strew,
And Fame, remorseful, sobbing saith,
O Master of the Old and New,
Thy waking years were all too few!
And Fame, remorseful, sobbing saith,
O Master of the Old and New,
Thy waking years were all too few!
Graham R. Tomson.