Poetry: The Rondeau

The Rondeau:

• Classical 16th century:
• 15 lines of 8 or 10 syllables each
• Three verses of: quintet -- quatrain -- sestet
• aabba–aabR–aabbaR
• 'R' is the first four syllables of 'a'
• See In Flanders Fields and We Wear the Mask below
• Typically iambic tetrameter
• Common themes:
• Death
• Forlorn love
• Tribute
• Love

VARIATIONS:

• Rondeau tercet:  A B1 B2   ab   A B1    abb    A B1 B2
• See Geoffrey Chaucer's poem below
• Rondeau quatrain: ABBA ab AB abba ABBA
• Rondeau cinquain: AABBA aab AAB aabba AABBA

Associated Forms:

• Rondel
• Triolet
• Rondelet

Worksheet:

RONDEAU:

a
a
b
b
a

a
a
b
R

a
a
b
b
a
R

RONDEAU TERCET:

A
B1
B2

a
b

A
B1

a
b
b

A
B1
B2
 

 

EXAMPLES:

We Wear the Mask

We wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—

This debt we pay to human guile;

With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,

And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,

In counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us, while

       We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries

To thee from tortured souls arise.

We sing, but oh the clay is vile

Beneath our feet, and long the mile;

But let the world dream otherwise,

       We wear the mask!

Paul Laurence Dunbar, 1872 -- 1906

 

 

 In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky,

The larks, still bravely singing, fly,

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead; short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe!

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high!

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

          In Flanders fields.

John McCrae, 1872 -- 1918

 

 

Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne softe,

That hast thes wintres wedres overshake,

And driven away the longe nyghtes blake!

Saynt Valentyn, that art ful hy on-lofte,

Thus syngen smale foules for they sake:

Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne softe,

That hast thes wintres wedres overshake,

Wel han they cause for to gladen ofte,

Sith ech of hem recovered hath hys make,

Ful blissful mowe they synge when they wake:

Now welcome, somer, with thy sonne softe,

That hast thes wintres wedres overshake,

And driven away the longe nyghtes blake!

Geoffrey Chaucer, c.1343 -- 140

 

Gabriel's Horn Poetry Anthology

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