ON the way to Paris, but toward Nemours the white, a bullfinch in the branches sang through the morning-light. On the way to Orleans, to Nemours flying fleet, a swallow in the heart of day sang above the wheat. On the way to Flanders, in twilight's gold and grey, far from Nemours the magpie its treasure hid away. Eastward on to Germany and Russia with harsh cry, far away from this land the crows of evening fly. But in my lovely garden, in Nemours' sheltered vale, all through the starry hours of night chanted the nightingale. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TARRY BUCCANEER by JOHN MASEFIELD SONNET: 42 by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE LAST CAESAR, 1851-1870 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE ALBION QUEENS, ACT 1: THE WONDER by JOHN BANKS (17TH CENTURY-) SPRING MORNING by MAVIS CLARE BARNETT LARABELLE; CANTO THIRD by LEVI BISHOP |