Nous n'irons plus au bois...

Nous n'irons plus au bois

We'll walk the woods no more,

But stay beside the fire,

To weep for old desire

And things that are no more.

The woods are spoiled and hoar,

The ways are full of mire;

We'll walk the woods no more,

But stay beside the fire.

We loved, in days of yore,

Love, laughter, and the lyre.

Ah God, but death is dire,

And death is at the door —

We'll walk the woods no more.