Happiness, fleeing, still has left me hope:
And still I pray.…
I have wept over every line, dear sister; but as for me, I laugh still, alas! Oh! what a treasure of memories hoarded within my soul of those fair years which your love made so sweet.
Would you like to have one of my relics, dearest?
Souvenir d’Enfance.
C’était dans un bois, à l’ombre des chênes
Et de nos sept ans, fières toutes trois,
N’ayant pas encor ni chagrin ni peines,
Nous remplissions l’air du bruit de nos voix.
Nous chantions toujours, cherchant l’églantine,