Enough, dear Paris! We have laughed together, 'Tis time that we should part, lest tears should come. I must fare on from winter and rough weather And the dark tempests chained within Time's womb. Southwards I go. Each footstep marks the tomb Of a dead pleasure. Melun, Fontainebleau,— How shall I name them with the ghosts that roam In their deserted streets of long ago? I will not stop to weep. Before me lie Lands larger in their purpose, and with dreams Peopled more purely; and to these I fly For ever from life's idler stratagems. France! thy white hand I kiss in suppliant guise, Too sad to love thee, and alas! too wise. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOLY CROSS DAY by ROBERT BROWNING FOR DECORATION DAY: 1861-1865 by RUPERT HUGHES STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY by JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER COLIN AND LUCY by THOMAS TICKELL THE FAIR THIEF by CHARLES WYNDHAM A CONSISTENT GIRL by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE NO-LONGER-MERRY ANCIENT MONARCH by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |