A villanelle is a poem which has 19 lines and a fixed form consisting of 7 stanzas. This type of poem does not require a specific number of syllables per lines but it does require there to be a rhyme scheme as shown below.

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The pattern of a villanelle is as shown:

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(A1) refrain 1
Line 2 (b)

(A2) refrain 2
 

Line 4 (a)
Line 5 (b)

(A1) refrain 1
 

Line 7 (a)
Line 8 (b)

(A2) refrain 2
 

Line 10 (a)
Line 11 (b)

(A1) refrain 1
 

Line 13 (a)
Line 14 (b)

(A2) refrain 2
 

Line 16 (a)
Line 17 (b)

(A1) refrain 1
(A2) refrain 2

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Example of a villanelle:

 

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

 

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

 

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

(Dylan Thomas)

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Another example of a villanelle:

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Mad Girl's Love Song

“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

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The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

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I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

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God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

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I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

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I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”

(Sylvia Plath)