Sans eschange le suit,
La terre sans labour, de sa grasse mamelle,
Toute chose y produit;
D'enbas la troupe sainte autrefois amoureuse,
Nous honorant sur tous,
Viendra nous saluer, s'estimant bien-heureuse
De s'accointer de nous.


There thou dwellest, with the learned lovers of old days, with
Belleau, and Du Bellay, and Baif, and the flower of the maidens of
Anjou. Surely no rumour reaches thee, in that happy place of
reconciled affections, no rumour of the rudeness of Time, the
despite of men, and the change which stole from thy locks, so early
grey, the crown of laurels and of thine own roses. How different
from thy choice of a sepulchre have been the fortunes of thy tomb!


I will that none should break
The marble for my sake,
Wishful to make more fair
My sepulchre!


So didst thou sing, or so thy sweet numbers run in my rude English.
Wearied of Courts and of priories, thou didst desire a grave beside
thine own Loire, not remote from


The caves, the founts that fall