Happy the man, who, like Ulysses,
Or, bold Jason of the Golden Fleece,
Can boast of a successful journey,
Full of tales, and end his days at home.
Ah, when will I return, where smoke drifts
From the chimney of my modest home?
In what sweet season will I go back
To see my home, my only kingdom?
I treasure it much, this slate-roofed house,
More than soaring, marble palaces;
My land, more than the Seven Hills;
My Loire, more than Tiber's flood at Rome.
Anjou's gentle hills, its countryside,
Are worth more to me than all Rome's gold.
Joachim du Bellay
Translated from the French