AH, Clemence! when I saw thee last Trip down the Rue de Seine, And turning, when thy form had past, I said, "We meet again,"-- I dreamed not in that idle glance Thy latest image came, And only left to memory's trance A shadow and a name. The few strange words my lips had taught Thy timid voice to speak, Their gentler signs, which often brought Fresh roses to thy cheek, The trailing of thy long loose hair Bent o'er my couch of pain, All, all returned, more sweet, more fair; Oh, had we met again! I walked where saint and virgin keep The vigil lights of Heaven, I knew that thou hadst woes to weep, And sins to be forgiven; I watched where Genevieve was laid, I knelt by Mary's shrine, Beside me low, soft voices prayed; Alas! but where was thine? And when the morning sun was bright, When wind and wave were calm, And flamed, in thousand-tinted light, The rose of Notre Dame, I wandered through the haunts of men, From Boulevard to Quai, Till, frowning o'er Saint Etienne, The Pantheon's shadow lay. In vain, in vain; we meet no more, Nor dream what fates befall; And long upon the stranger's shore My voice on thee may call, When years have clothed the line in moss That tells thy name and days, And withered, on thy simple cross, The wreaths of Pere-la-Chaise! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON BEING BROUGHT FROM AFRICA TO AMERICA by PHILLIS WHEATLEY THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD: TRANSLATION by CAIUS PEDO ALBINOVANUS THE SONG OF THE ILL-BELOVED; TO PAUL LEAUTARD by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 36. ASH-SHAKIR by EDWIN ARNOLD TRANSITION by MIRIAM BARRANGER ON HEARING AN AEOLIAN HARP by PETER BAYLEY JR. |