THERE at Geneva where Mt. Blanc floated above The wine-hued lake like a cloud, when a breeze was blown Out of an empty sky of blue, and the roaring Rhone Hurried under the bridge through chasms of rock; And the music along the cafes was part of the splendor Of dancing water under a torrent of light; And the purper part of the genius of Jean Rousseau Was the silent music of all we saw or heard -- There at Geneva, I say, was the rapture less Because I could not link myself with the I of yore, When twenty years before I wandered about Spoon River? Nor remember what I was nor what I felt? We live in the hour all free of the hours gone by. Therefore, O soul, if you lose yourself in death, And wake in some Geneva by some Mt. Blanc, What do you care if you know not yourself as the you Who lived and loved in a little corner of earth Known as Spoon River ages and ages vanished? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COUNTESS CATHLEEN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS LOVE'S SECRET, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE A FRAGMENT by GEORGE GORDON BYRON SONG OF THE BANNER AT DAY-BREAK by WALT WHITMAN ORLANDO FURIOSO: CANTO 10. by LUDOVICO (LODOVICO) ARIOSTO HELLENS RAPE; OR A LIGHT LANTHORNE FOR LIGHT LADIES by RICHARD BARNFIELD |