When the winds commune with the tell-tale limbs,
And many-voiced leaves. That is S T . P IERRE ,
Where the tall poplars — which the night bedims,
Lift their sharp outlines through the solemn air.
Past these white cottages to L'A VENIR ,
Another site of beauty. Lovelier yet
The P LATEAU , slumbering in the foliage there;
And gay C AP S AINTE , like a Wild Love, beset
With wooers, bringing gems to deck her coronet.