THROUGH the great doors, where Paris flowed incessant, Fell certain dimness, as of some poised hour, Caught from the ashes of the Infinite And prisoned there in solemn purple state, To make illusion for dead majesty! A dusk of greatness, such as well might brood Beneath the wings of Destiny's proud day; A calm, immortal twilight mantling up To the great dome, where painted triumph rides High o'er the dust that once bestrode it all— Nor ever fame had fairer firmament! It was as though Ambition still should live In marble over him; as though his dream— From whose high tower and colored casements round He, with a royal thievery in his eye, Did look upon the apple of a world— Should take this shape, and being clothed with walls. Stand, in such permanence as matter gives To house his glory through the centuries. Then I went in, with Paris pressing slow, And saw the long blue shadows folding down Upon the casket of the Emperor. A soldier in a faded uniform Stood close beside me. He was one of those Who die and leave no lament on the wind ... And straightway gazing on him I beheld Not death's magnificence; not fame's hushed tomb— But grim Oblivion, and the fields of France! And on some nameless hillside, where the night Sets out wild flaming candles for the dead, Innumerable corpses palely sprawled Beneath the silent, cold, anonymous stars. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MORNING, NOON AND NIGHT by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON NOTHING TO WEAR' by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER THE SPARROW by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR TO A BUTTERFLY (1) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH A SUMMER NIGHT by MATTHEW ARNOLD |