• High-lying, sea-blown stretches of green turf,
      Wind-bitten close, salt-colored by the sea,
    Low curve on curve spread far to the cool sky,
    And, curving over them as long they lie,
        Beds of wild fleur-de-lys.

    Wide-flowing, self-sown, stealing near and far,
      Breaking the green like islands in the sea;
    Great stretches at your feet,...

  • 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...