Lusignan, les Baux, Coucy, white towers in winter's fee, and autumn's king, Saint-Cloud, where shrewd the wind doth blow, mocked by the whirling snow, is it not sad for you? This lake that the reeds enslave, how its shivering wave annuls the desolate sheen of Lusignan's chateau that coldly gleams below in the baths of Melusine! This hold on the hillside low, stiffly reared les Baux, gapes to all the tempests chill that o'er its hearth-stones rage. It complains, and perhaps with age its crumbling stones are ill. The five towers of my Coucy (I also speak to thee), what art thou 'neath the silver stain of the hoar frost? five white owls that shiver beneath the cowls of a foliage wet with rain? My friends, this way repair; direct your glances there; remark it well, 'tis Saint-Cloud. Since one December fell, ah! piteous to tell! there's nothing left to view. Lusignan, les Baux, Coucy, white towers in winter's fee, (and Saint-Cloud no longer there) is it not bitter pain life's semblance to retain when death is in the air? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRING DAY: NIGHT AND SLEEP by AMY LOWELL PLEASURE MIXED WITH PAIN by THOMAS WYATT THE BLOSSOM, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE MONODY ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON. R.B. SHERIDAN by GEORGE GORDON BYRON EVENING SONG OF THE TYROLESE PEASANTS by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS TO A HIGHLAND GIRL; AT INVERSNAID, UPON LOCH LOMOND by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |