O nymph—o nymph, who playest with me, Beneath the shades, among the whispering trees, The cooling breeze, it brings sweet memory Of those fair days when we were young and free! Life was a soft, exquisite melody, With joy repeated in the rustling leaves. How fleeting are thy moments, nymph! But see, Thou canst not fade, despite what sorrow weaves.

• Gustave Flaubert