A little sob breaks the smooth sweetness of Belleau's verse, and Ronsard's beautiful lines to his careless young mistress are heavy with the burden of sighs:—
Quand vous serez bien vieille, au soir, à la chandelle,
Assise auprès du feu, devisant et filant,
Direz, chantant mes vers, en voua esmerveillant:
'Ronsard me célébroit du temps que j'estois belle.'
The note deepens as we pass into the more conscious art of later years, but it is always French in its grace and moderation. How endurable is the regret with which de Musset sings of Juana, who loved him for a whole year; how musical his farewell to Suzon, whose briefer passion lasted eight summer days:—
Que notre amour, si tu m'oublies,
Suzon, dure encore un moment;
Comme un bouquet de fleurs pâlies;
Cache-le dans ton sein charmant!
Adieu! le bonheur reste au gîte;
Le souvenir part avec moi:
Je l'emporterai, ma petite,
Bien loin, bien vite,
Toujours à toi.
In Murger's familiar verses, so pretty and gay and heartsick, in the finer art of Gautier,
