A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/The Lost Path (André Lemoyne)
I know a valley in the depth of woods,
Where spreads the moss its velvet carpet green,
The ringdoves murmur 'mid its solitudes,
Drunk with perfume exhaled by flowers unseen.
High beeches form of leaves a lofty dome
That intercepts the entrance of the sun,
Beneath, the timid roebucks love to roam,
Safe from the hunter in the twilight dun.
There, periwinkles in dark nooks delight,
Blue myosotis bare their hearts of gold,
And by a crystal pool, her roses white
A nymphæa bends, their picture to behold.
Hushed are the echoes in a sleep profound,
A footfall might awake them, Fancy fears,
No deeper silence reigned where magic-bound
The Sleeping Beauty dreamed a hundred years.
Once, only once, I saw the happy place,
'Twas in the glory of my twentieth May,
Led by a fairy, full of love and grace;
Alone, since then, I have not found the way.