...
Mon frère le lion, tu rugis ta prière ;
Tu la hurles, molosse, en abois infinis ;
Tu la beugles, taureau; cheval, tu la hennis ;
Tu la bêles, agneau. Chacun a sa manière.
Au petit point du jour, saluant la lumière,
Comme moi, mieux que moi, petits oiseaux bénis,
Errants par la feuillée ou couchés dans vos nids,
Vous chantez du Seigneur la bonté...
Ere yet in Vergil I could scan or spell,
Or through the enchanted portal of that lay
Dear to old Rome had found my faltering way,
How oft with heaving breast I heard thee tell
Of horrors that the Trojan fleet befell:
How for a time they were the tempest’s prey,
And how at last into a little bay
Their boats came gliding on the peaceful...