  TANT L VAUT, the Virgin name, Five hundred years ago, On stately hall and tower aflame, Blazoned in gold, bade all acclaim Her worth in high Rochepot. Here above London's roar I sit, To watch the splendour flow O'er myriad roof-trees glory-lit, And read,—with golden fingers writ— A sunset's TANT L VAUT. Darkness and stars begin to be, Light leaves the world below; Turning, a gracious form I see, And vesper music wakes in me— Ma deboinaire, trÈs doulce amie, Seule Etoile, TANT L VAUT. Grapes |
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