When you are truly old, beside the evening candle,
Sitting by the fire, winding wool and spinning,
Murmuring my verses, you’ll marvel then, in saying,
‘Long ago, Ronsard sang me, when I was beautiful.’
Pierre de Ronsard, Sonnets Pour Helene, Book II: XLIII)
On Poetry in translation

Je pense que mes amis francophones connaissent ça par coeur.