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Death, I cry out at your harshness,
That stole my girl away from me,
Yet you're not satisfied I see
Until I languish in distress.

Since then I've lost all liveliness:
What harm alive, to you, was she?
Death, I cry out at your harshness,
That stole my girl away from me.

Two we were, with one heart blessed:
If heart's dead, yes, then I foresee,
I'll die, or I must lifeless be,
Like those statues made of lead.

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François Villon

François Villon born in Paris in 1431 and disappeared from view in 1463, is the best known French poet of the late Middle Ages. more…

All François Villon poems | François Villon Books

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"Poetry.net" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 25 Aug. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/>.

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