Mais Moi Je Vis La Vie En Rouge

Your soul is like a purple flower, Mary, whose eyes are amethyst, Whose lips are like red wine when kist, With sweet life and sweet death for dower; There are who will have none of these, Who walk in peace all day upright, And in the night pray on their knees-- The pleasures of the life in white.

All cloth'd with virtues manifold Are these--their souls are like white snow; Fair love, around thy heart I know My heart is bound with chains of gold. Sweet youths whose life is in the spring, The water is all wine they drink, They sorrow not at anything-- The pleasures of the life in pink.

Your gold hair's like an aureole, Your lips are gold wine bought and sold, Pure golden kisses bought for gold; Each breast is like a golden bowl.

These things are for a scorn to those That read great books both night and day, That say, Joy dieth as the rose-- The pleasures of the life in gray.

Sweet youths, white ladies, scholars sour, Rejoice, and hasten on your way; Mary, whose skin is white as whey, Your soul is like a purple flower.