A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/My Normandy (Frédéric Bérat)
MY NORMANDY.
When all things are to hope new-born,
And far the winter flies away,
And on our well-loved France, each morn
The sun returns with kindlier ray,
When nature blooms on hill and plain,
And swallows are once more in sight,
I visit Normandy again,
Where first these eyes beheld the light.
I've seen the hills of Switzerland,
Its châlets, and its glaciers drear,
I've seen Italia's sky and strand,
And heard, entranced, the gondolier;
But while I hailed each foreign spot,
I murmured to myself—on earth
A lovelier land existeth not
Than Normandy, that gave me birth.
There is an age, alas! in life,
When every idle dream must end,
An age of introspection, rife
With memories that cross and blend.
When such an age arrives for me,
And folds her wing, my Muse, to rest,
May I behold my Normandy,
The favoured land I love the best.