Beside the dancing Loire your castle stands,

Steep roofed and gabled over pillared arch.

Its history counts the deeds of many hands;

Speaks of the hall resounding to the march

Of armored host or laughing cavalcade,

While garden walls tell of the times they caught

The breathless whispering of love essayed;

There pride with pride seems never to have fought.

For though the heart of Balafré grew cold

His corpse long hidden by the guard-room door—

While brave De Guise betrayed, so we are told,

Expired in anguish, chained to dungeon floor;

Kind time has healed such scars of human pains,

And utter loveliness alone remains.