So the traveller who, in his short journey, Rests a while in the shelter of the vale

On the hospitable tree, whose shade he enjoys, Before leaving, likes to carve his name.

Before leaving,

                                                                                                                  Lamartine (From the French)



 I would like, dear bees, to carve my name on these leaves, blessed shrub that has taken all its sap from around your dwelling place.
In its shade, I have rested from my weariness, have healed my wounds. Its horizon satisfies my desires for there I can see the heavens.
Its solitude is more gentle than deep. Your friends are visiting it. You enliven it with your singing.
And because you do not die, dear bees, you will sing again and for ever, in the surrounding foliage, where my spirit will rest.

Thank you.

                                                                                                                                 E. Warré