Beyond the mountains blue,
Fain would I walk five weary leagues,—
I do not mind the road's fatigues,—
Through morn and evening's dew;
But bitter frost would fall at night;
And on the grapes,—that yellow blight!
I could not go to Carcassonne,
I never went to Carcassonne.
"They say it is as gay all times
As holidays at home!