YOUR rondeau's tale must still be light--No bugle-call to life's stern fight!
Rather a smiling interlude Memorial to some transient mood Of idle love and gala-night.
Its manner is the merest sleight O' hand; yet therein dwells its might, For if the heavier touch intrude Your rondeau's stale.
Fragrant and fragile, fleet and bright, And wing'd with whim, it gleams in flight Like April blossoms wind-pursued Down aisles of tangled underwood;--Nor be too serious when you write Your rondeau's tail!
