In Picardie

Pale leaves waver and whisper low

(Silvered leaves of the poplar tree),

Waters wander and willows blow

In Picardie.

Misty green of the orchard grass,

Grass-grown lanes by the sedge-fringed lea,

Pleasant ways for the feet that pass

Through Picardie.

Here the youth on a blue May night

Soft to his maiden's home steals he.

Binds a bough to the lintel's height

Of dark fir tree.

Gaston sigheth for Bernadette!

(Sorrow to come -- or joy to be?)

This she knows by the token set

In secrecy.

Long lagoons where the lilies lie

(Blossoms and buds of ivory).

Sweet the meadows and fair the sky

Of Picardie!

Where be the waters to drown regret?

Where be the leaves of Sleep's own tree?

Nowhere else in the world -- nor yet

In Picardie.