  IN my little ChÂteau of Bon Espoir There is room enough for a score, I trow, Of the friends I made in the days long syne, Of the loves I loved in the long ago. There is a chamber where music’s spell Dulcetly on the ears shall fall From the lips of quaint old instruments, Spinet and viol and virginal. There is a high-domed dancing hall, Sacred once to the minuet, Where now in the maze of the waltz’s whirl The flying hours shall chase regret. There is the snuggest of tabagies Where a man may sit as among the gods, And the world shall not have a word to say If Lucullus drowses, if Homer nods. With ripple of laughter and snatch of song Its echoing corridors shall sound, With rustle of delicate draperies A subtle scent shall be cast around. The wine of life shall frothe in the cup, Its bread possess a celestial leaven, This earth shall be paradise enow To quench the thirst for a happier heaven. In my little ChÂteau of Bon Espoir There is room enough for a score, I trow, Of the loves I loved in the days long syne, Of the friends I made in the long ago. |
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