Of that sweet summer night breathed forth to us
From flowery chalices beside the glimmering stream.
Far in the silent grove the chestnut-trees
And ancient oaks swayed their sad branches slow;
We sat and, listening to the amorous breeze,
Through the half-opened casement let the low
Sweet breath of Spring float in. The winds were still,
The plain deserted. All alone we were
And very young... Lucie was blonde and pale
And pensive. As I musing gazed on her