Ronsard's sunken eyes looked wild,—his aged frame trembled violently, and he gave a hopeless gesture.
It is clear-eyed and sparkling with dew, like a sonnet by Ronsard.
But Ronsard does not live in literature mainly as a flatterer.
Your Majesty, Ronsard himself could not have invented better.
It is no accident that Ronsard, that Du Bellay, were churchmen.
My dear Ronsard will be here within the minute and I have a sonnet which I must write to him.
It is curious that he makes no mention of Ronsard, who was much read in England, and one of the favourite authors of the Queen.
"No Sir; she is God's gift to a broken heart," replied Ronsard gently.
By a memory separate from the rest of his verse, Ronsard was moved to write this Rabelaisian thing.
I said nothing to Ronsard, not even to warn him of the King's impending visit.