Tuesday, April 26, 2016


If I were, say, a duke and a troubadour
God might let me have a mistress
Called Dangereuse whose portrait
I would paint on my shield. When the Pope
Demanded I return her to her husband
I’d mock his nuncio for being bald.
Being careless, I might lose an army
But the great Abbey of Fontevraud
Would call me founder. I would sing
That my love's touch made dead men sigh
But her wrath could kill from miles away.
How poets and mistresses have dwindled!

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