C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

To the Queen of Navarre

MOURN for the dead, let who will for them mourn;—

But while I live, my heart is most forlorn

For those whose night of sorrow sees no dawn

On this earth.

O Flower of France whom at the first I served,

Those thou hast freed from pain that them unnerved

Have given pain to thee, ah! undeserved,

I’ll attest.

Of ingrates thou hast sadly made full test;

But since I left thee (bound by stern behest),—

Not leaving thee,—full humbly I’ve addrest

A princess

Who has a heart that does not sorrow less

Than thine. Ah God! shall I ne’er know mistress,

Before I die, whose eye on sad distress

Is not bent?

Is not my Muse as fit and apt to invent

A song of peace that would bring full content

As chant the bitterness of this torment

Exceeding?

An! listen, Margaret, to the suffering

That in the heart of Renée plants its sting;

Then, sister-like, than hope more comforting,

Console her….