The honeysuckle blew its tiny horn
To tell the rose a moth was coming by.
Clarice-Marie! sang all the nightingales,
Or would have sung were nightingales abroad!
Hush, hush! the little waves kept whispering.
The ivy at your window still was peeping;
You lay in dreams, that gold curl on your breast!
The Marquise
No, no! You cheat me not, monsieur! Last night
I did not sleep!