RONSARD'S GRAVE

Ye wells, ye founts that fall

From the steep mountain wall,

That fall, and flash, and fleet

With silver feet,

Ye woods, ye streams that lave

The meadows with your wave,

Ye hills, and valley fair,

Attend my prayer!

When Heaven and Fate decree

My latest hour for me,

When I must pass away

From pleasant day,

I ask that none my break

The marble for my sake,

Wishful to make more fair

My sepulchre.

Only a laurel tree

Shall shade the grave of me,

Only Apollo's bough

Shall guard me now!

Now shall I be at rest

Among the spirits blest,

The happy dead that dwell -

Where,— who may tell?

The snow and wind and hail

May never there prevail,

Nor ever thunder fall

Nor storm at all.

But always fadeless there

The woods are green and fair,

And faithful ever more

Spring to that shore!

There shall I ever hear

Alcaeus’ music clear,

And sweetest of all things

There SAPPHO sings.