Villonaud for This Yule

Towards the Noel that morte saison
(Christ make the shepherds' homage¹ dear!)
Then when the grey wolves everychone
Drink of the winds their chill small-beer
And lap o' the snows food's gueredon
Then makyth my heart his yule-tide cheer
(Skoal! with the dregs if the clear be gone!)
Wineing the ghosts of yester-year.

Ask ye what ghost I dream upon?
(What of the magians' scented² gear?)
The ghosts of dead loves everyone
That make the stark³ winds reek⁴ with fear
Lest love return with the foison sun
And slay⁵ the memories that me cheer
(Such as I drink to mine fashion)
Wineing the ghosts of yester-year.

Where are the joys my heart had won?
(Saturn and Mars to Zeus drawn⁶ near!)
Where are athe lips mine lay upon,
Aye! where are the glances feat⁷ and clear
That bade my heart his valor⁸ don?

I skoal to the eyes as grey-blown meer
(Who knows whose was that paragon⁹?)
Wineing the ghosts of yester-year.

Prince: ask me not what I have done
Nor what God hath that can me cheer
But ye ask first where the winds are gone
Wineing the ghosts of yester-year.