IN Paris all look'd hot and like to fade. Brown in the garden of the Tuileries, Brown with September, droop'd the chestnut-trees. 'twas dawn; a brougham roll'd through the streets, and made Halt at the white and silent colonnade Of the French Theatre. Worn with disease, Rachel, with eyes no gazing can appease, Sate in the brougham, and those blank walls survey'd. She follows the gay world, whose swarms have fled To Switzerland, to Baden, to the Rhine; Why stops she by this empty play-house drear? Ah, where the spirit its highest life hath led, All spots, match'd with that spot, are less divine; And Rachel's Switzerland, her Rhine, is here! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO LEIGH HUNT, ESQ. by JOHN KEATS THE SPIRIT OF POETRY by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW HARMOSAN by RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH THE LAST MAN: INSIGNIFICANCE OF THE WORLD by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES SEA BUTTERFLIES by DON BLANDING |