The Hooded Clouds, Like Friars,

In Ourselves Are Triumph And Defeat.

Even Cities Have Their Graves!

Prayer Is Innocence's Friend; And Willingly Flieth Incessant 'twist The Earth And The Sky, The Carrier-pigeon Of Heaven.

They Who Go Feel Not The Pain Of Parting; It Is They Who Stay Behind That Suffer.

O Lovely River Of Yvette! O Darling River! Like A Bride, Some Dimpled, Bashful, Fair Lisette Thou Goest To Wed The Orge's Tide. O Lovely River Yvette! O Darling Stream! On Balanced Wings The Wood-birds Sang The Chansonnette That Here A Wandering Poet Sings.