Babette
Under the old régime, Babette,
Under the old régime, Babette,
Do you remember how
We plucked the fragrant violet
And twined the myrtle-bough?
The myrtle was for love, Babette,
For fond youth's joyous dream!
Can you those happy days forget
Under the old régime?
Was not the sky a brighter blue,
The birds' song sweeter then?
Were not the maids more fair and true,
And manlier the men?
Upon yon warm slope, southward set,
How bent the olives seem!
They were not so of yore, Babette,
Under the old régime.
Under the old régime, Babette,
How light of heart we were!
There were no grass-grown graves as yet
Beneath the sombre fir.
How mournful is the wind's hoarse fret,
How sad the twilight's gleam!
Oh, to be back again, Babette,
Under the old régime!
No comments:
Post a Comment
Welcome, I publish commentary closely connected to the topic. Thank you for participating.