This is my fave so far. I found it here.

Aubade
BY DAFYDD AP GWILYM

It seemed as if we did not sleep
One wink that night; I was sighing deep.
The cruellest judge in the costliest court
Could not condemn a night so short.
We had the light out, but I know,
Each time I turned, a radiant glow
Suffused the room, and shining snow
Alit from Heaven’s candle-fires
Illuminated our desires.

But the last time I held her, strong,
Excited, closest, very long,
Something started to go wrong.
The edge of dawn’s despotic veil
Showed at the eastern window-pale
And there it was,—the morning light!
Gwen was seized with a fearful fright,
Became an apparition, cried,
“Get up, go now with God, go hide!

“Love is a salt, a gall, a rue,
A vinegar-vintage. Dos y Ddw,
Vaya con Dios, quickly, too!”
“Ah, not yet, never yet, my love;
The stars and moon still shine above.”
“Then why do the raucous ravens talk
With such a loud insistent squawk?”
“Crows always cry like that, when fleas
Nibble their ankles, nip their knees.”

“And why do the dogs yip, yammer, yell?”
“They think they’ve caught a fox’s smell.”
“Poet, the wisdom of a fool
Offers poor counsel as a rule.
Open the door, open it wide
As fast as you can, and leap outside.
The dogs are fierce when they get untied.”
“The woods are only a bound from here,
And I can outjump a deer, my dear!”

“But tell me, best beloved of men,
Will you come again? Will you come again?”
“Gwen, you know I’m your nightingale,
And I’ll be with you, without fail,
When the cloud is cloak, and the dark is sky,
And when the night comes, so will I.”




[This message has been edited by Mary Meriam (edited June 20, 2008).]

The aubade from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet.

A Late Aubade
Richard Wilbur

You could be sitting now in a carrel
Turning some liver-spottd page,
Or rising in an elevator-cage
Toward Ladies' Apparel.

You could be planting a raucous bed
Of salvia, in rubber gloves,
Or lunching through a screed of someone's loves
With pitying head,

Or making some unhappy setter
Heel, or listening to a bleak
Lecture on Schoenberg's serial technique.
Isn't this better?

Think of all the time you are not
Wasting, and would not care to waste,
Such things, thank God, not being to your taste.
Think what a lot

Of time, by woman's reckoning,
You've saved, and so may spend on this,
You who had rather lie in bed and kiss
Than anything.

It's almost noon, you say? If so,
Time flies, and I need not rehearse
The rosebuds-theme of centuries of verse.
If you must go,

Wait for a while, then slip downstairs
And bring us up some chilled white wine,
And some blue cheese, and crackers, and some fine
Ruddy-skinned pears.

I had to look up aubade but after figuring out what it was, this one came to mind as likely my current favorite.

(Edit--I just found another one! )

[This message has been edited by Frank Hubeny (edited June 19, 2008).]

I'm not sure if it is strictly considered an aubade, but Keats' "The Eve Of St. Agnes" is tonally similar, and has always been one of my favorites.

Wilbur gives Daffyd ap Gwylam a run for his money. David Gwylam Anthony is of course out to give his ancestor a run for his money too. Welshmen!

Well, what sort of of a Donne-man would I be not to post the greatest of all aubades in English.

The Sunne Rising


ooooooBusie olde foole, unruly Sunne;
ooooo Why dost thou thus,
Through windowes, and through curtaines call on us?
Must to they motions lovers seasons run?
oooooSawcy pedantique wretch, goe chide
oooooLate schoole boyes, and sowre prentices,
ooGoe tell Court-huntsmen, that the King will ride,
oo Call countrey ands to harvest offices;
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clyme,
Nor houres, dayes, moneths, which are the rags of time.

oooooThy beames, so reverend, and strong
ooooo Why shouldst thou thinke?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a winke,
But that I would not lose her sight so long:
ooooo If her eyes have not blinded thine
ooooo Looke, and tomorrow late, tell mee,
oo Whether both the India's of spice and Myne
oo Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with mee.
Aske for those Kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt heare, All here in one bed lay.

oooooShe'is all States, and all Princes, I,
ooooo Nothing else is;
Princes doe but play us; compar'd to this,
All honor's mimique; All wealth alchimie,
oooooThou sunne art halfe as happy'as wee,
ooooo In that the world's contracted thus;
oo Thine ages askes ease, and since thy duties bee
ooTo warme the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art every where;
This bed thy center is, these walls, thy spheare.


Many have pointed out that this poem must have been written after 1603, since it mentions “the King”. But Donne was not the first poet to abuse the sun for interrupting his love-making – Ovid was doing it 1500 years earlier:

What’s the hurry, Aurora? Take it easy, let Memnon’s spirit
Enjoy the yearly sacrifice of his birds!
Now, if ever, I love to lie in my mistress’s tender
Embrace, feel her close by my side,
At this cool hour of deep sleep, with liquid bird-song
Tremulous in the air.
What’s the hurry? All lovers, men and girls, resent your coming,
Exert those rose fingers, rein in awhile!
Seamen out in deep water, eyes fixed on the constellations,
Steer closer before your rising, don’t yaw off course.
Even the wearist traveller’s out to greet you,
Every soldier’s armed and ready by the time you arrive.
You’re always up first ….


– Ovid, Amores, 1:13, (Peter Green’s translation)



[This message has been edited by Mark Allinson (edited June 19, 2008).]

Oh, this is great. Thanks everyone. Mark, thanks especially for the Donne - all that formatting! I really appreciate it. I got sidetracked by cinquain, but I'll be back to study the aubade, er, in the morning.

Here's Mr. Wilbur reading his "A Late Aubade"


http://www.peoplesarchive.com/browse/movies/5810/en//

Since no one's mentioned it yet, I will. What about Larkin's great "Aubade"?