On an April day,fifteen-year-old MaryQueen of Scots
Marries her childhood playmate, Francis, aged fourteen
It's Paris. It's Notre Dame Cathedral
Bells peal out, the trees are bright with blossom
The groom is the son ofHenri II of France
His mother, Catherine de' Medici, stands aloof
The boy is timid, sickly, undersized
He stammers, but is exquisitely dressed
His bride is tall, her auburn hair hangs shining
Her hazel eyes are bright as Beltane dew
She is vivacious, confident and witty
All of Paris is here to celebrate
The road's been swept. There's flowers and fluttering banners
The fleur de lys of France, and marigolds.
In the city, theatres show plays
Food and drink's on sale, for thronging crowds
The square in front of Notre Dame is packed.
Leading the procession, the Swiss Guards
Musicians fill the air, it's sweet with song
Princes, bishops, cardinals walk stately
Crucifixes, holy relics pass
And then, the bridal party raises cries
Mary is ‘dressed in clothing as white as lilies',
Two maids carry her train of blue-grey velvet
Round her neck is a necklace flashing with gems
On her head, a gold crown set with pearls,
In Notre Dame, a podium was draped with silk
Embroidered with glorious fleur de lys
Before Archbishop of Rouen she made her vows
Cheers rose when the ring was placed upon her finger
Her uncle, the Duc de Guise mounted the stage
Tossed gold and silver coins, into the crowd,
And then, the wedding mass.
Light from the great windows, spilling colour
Forfifteen days France celebrated,
Banquets, masks, parades-a tournament
Paris, city of love, opened its heart to Mary like a rose
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem