FRATERNITÉ.
Crœsus, gilt martyr of a bank,
Barred round with ingots yellow,
The poet whom you do not thank,
Is not a "wretched fellow"!
The garret of his dreaming sleep
Is tapestried with splendor,
Whose glitter makes no angels weep;
His heart is true and tender.
Barred round with ingots yellow,
The poet whom you do not thank,
Is not a "wretched fellow"!
The garret of his dreaming sleep
Is tapestried with splendor,
Whose glitter makes no angels weep;
His heart is true and tender.
Poet, the Dives you despise
Has pleasure in his money!
Dear butterfly, some beauty lies
To bees in making honey!
The gold and jewels of your flowers
He copies in his treasure;
Must all your brother's happy hours
Be meted with your measure?
Has pleasure in his money!
Dear butterfly, some beauty lies
To bees in making honey!
The gold and jewels of your flowers
He copies in his treasure;
Must all your brother's happy hours
Be meted with your measure?
Fair woman, whose averted eyes
Cast scorn on shame's poor daughter,
Cast scorn on shame's poor daughter,
