How old I am

How old I am! I'm eighty years. I've worked both bard and

long.

Yet patient as my life has been, one dearest sight I have not seen,

It almost seems a wrong. A dream I had when life was young.

Alas! our dreams, they come not true.

I thought to see fair Carcassonne,

That lovely city, Carcassonne.

One sees it dimly from the height beyond the mountain blue.

Fain would I walk five weary leagues, I do not mind the road's

fatigues.

Thro' morn and evening's dew.

But bitter frosts would fall at night, and on the grapes that

withered blight,

I could not go to Carcassonne,

I never went to Carcassonne.

They say it is as gay all times as holidays at home.

The gentles ride in gay attire, and in the sun each gilded spire

Shoots up like those at Rome.

The bishop the procession leads, the generals curb their prancing

steeds.

Alas! I saw not Carcassonne.

Alas! I know not Carcassonne.