Are favoring ladies above thee?
Are there dowries and lands? Do they say
Seven others are fair? But I love thee:
Aultre n’auray!
All the sea is a lawn in our country;
All the morrow, our star of delay.
I am King: let me live on thy bounty!
Aulture n’auray!
To the fingers so light and so rosy
...
Anonymous translation from the French
THE BIER descends, the spotless roses too,
The father’s tribute in his saddest hour:
O Earth! that bore them both, thou hast thy due,—
The fair young girl and flower.
Give them not back unto a world again,
Where mourning, grief, and agony have power,—
Where winds destroy, and suns...
