“A la Belle Étoile”

Oh, who will lodge at my Inn tonight, And live both fair and fine, With a blossoming blackberry vine for a gate, And a friendly star for a sign? Good sir, my Inn is a gentle Inn, The wine is sweet and old; ’Tis Adam’s, sir, with a fine bouquet, And the color of liquid gold. The carriages roll on the rocky road To a musty house afar; But the gentlefolk stop by the blackberry gate At the Inn of the Beautiful Star. Sweet fern, sweet fern for your pillow, sir, And a quick-eared faun for your mate, And a firefly’s light for your candle bright⁠— Good sooth, we sleep in state. The winds go murmuring by at dusk And call you up at dawn, To walk through the fairies’ handkerchiefs And startle a sleeping fawn. When day is red on the river’s bed, And bright on quartz and spar, We’ll say our short St. Martin’s grace At the Inn of the Beautiful Star. The blackberry vine is a maiden now, With her pale stars in the dew; Come back next month, good sir, there’ll be Sweet blackberries for you. We’ll wish you luck from the blackberry gate. Although you wander far, ’Tis here that you’ll come home at last⁠— To our Inn of the Beautiful Star.