Classic Poem

It is dreary
Out in the park of the château;
The paths are deep in mud,
The trees damp and triste ;
The marble stairs by the lake-side
Are stained with mould,
Untidy with twigs and dead grass;
There are no swans left
To stud the blue water
With their languid silver;
Oh, it is desolate and mournful and lifeless
Under the soundless trees
By the waveless water,
But a frame for my gay dreams
Of your head bent back
With lips unfolded for my mouth to kiss!