net That meshes the feet in the flowers that stray; There were we taken and snared, Lisette, In the dungeon of La Fausse Amistie; Help was there none in the wide world's fray, Joy was there none in the gift and the debt; Too late we knew it, too long regret— I shall never forget till my dying day! We must live our lives, though the sun be set, Must meet in the masque where parts we play, Must cross in the maze of Life's minuet; Our yea is yea, and our nay is nay: But while snows of winter or flowers of May Are the sad year's shroud or coronet, In the season of rose or of violet, I shall never forget till my dying day! ENVOY. Queen, when the clay is my coverlet, When I am dead, and when you are grey, Vow, where the grass of the grave is wet, "I shall never forget till my dying day!" 

ENVOY

 BALLADE OF HIS CHOICE OF A SEPULCHRE. Here I'd come when weariest! Here the breast Of the Windburg's[4] tufted over Deep with bracken; here his crest Takes the west, Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover. Silent here are lark and plover; In the cover Deep below the cushat best Loves his mate, and croons above her O'er their nest, Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover. Bring me here, Life's tired-out guest, To the blest Bed that waits the weary rover, Here should failure be confessed; Ends my quest, Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover! ENVOY. Friend, or stranger kind, or lover, Ah, fulfil a last behest, Let me rest Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover! 

Takes the west,

In the cover

O'er their nest,

To the blest

Ends my quest,

ENVOY

Let me rest

 GRACE A LA MUSE, ET JE LUI DIS MERCI, J'AI COMPOSÉ MES TRENTE SIX BALLADES 

GRACE A LA MUSE, ET JE LUI DIS MERCI

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