VILLANELLE
            (from the French of)
            Jean Passerat
                c. latter 16th century; transl. Gannon*
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  Oh, I have lost my turtle dove--
  That isn't my sweet bird I hear?
  I must go after my true love.
  
  You miss a woman you're fond of?
  I deem my sorrow just as dear,
  For I have lost my turtle dove!
  
  Your faith in your love needs no proof?
  So is mine firm, without a fear--
  I must go after my true love.
  
  Your sighs return--over and over?
  Well, _my_ sad moans are always here!
  For I have lost my turtle dove:
  
  Now that my pretty has flown off,
  Beauty herself lies in her bier;
  I must go after my true love.
   
  O Death, to whom I've called so often,
  Take him who finds in life no cheer--
  For I have lost my turtle dove:
  I must go after my true love.


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*NOTE: Pardon the liberal translation: in the original,
  "turtledove" is a conventional metaphor for a human
  woman, the actual subject of the poem. Making the
  poem about a real bird, I think, gives an interesting
  (and yes, intentionally ludicrous) twist to the
  rather hackneyed sentiment of the original French.
(And speaking of metaphors, aren't most poems about birds
  actually metaphorical projections of human hopes and
  fears, anyway?--saying more about the poet and his/her
  species than the ostensible avine subject? I've just
  stood the metaphor on its head here.)

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