| |
| VERSAILLES!—Up the chestnut alley, | |
| All in flower, so white and pure, | |
| Strut the red and yellow lacqueys | |
| Of this Madame Pompadour. | |
| |
| “Clear the way!” cry out the lacqueys, | 5 |
| Elbowing the lame and poor | |
| From the chapel’s stately porches,— | |
| “Way for Madame Pompadour!” | |
| |
| Old bent soldiers, crippled veterans, | |
| Sigh and hobble, sad, footsore, | 10 |
| Jostled by the chariot-horses | |
| Of this woman—Pompadour. | |
| |
| Through the levée (poet, marquis, | |
| Wistful for the opening door), | |
| With a rippling sweep of satin, | 15 |
| Sailed the queenly Pompadour. | |
| |
| Sighs by dozens, as she proudly | |
| Glides, so confident and sure, | |
| With her fan that breaks through halberds,— | |
| In went Madame Pompadour. | 20 |
| |
| Starving abbé, wounded marshal, | |
| Speculator, lean and poor, | |
| Cringe and shrink before the creatures | |
| Of this harlot Pompadour. | |
| |
| “Rose in sunshine! Summer lily!” | 25 |
| Cries a poet at the door, | |
| Squeezed and trampled by the lacqueys | |
| Of the witching Pompadour. | |
| |
| “Bathed in milk and fed on roses!” | |
| Sighs a pimp behind the door, | 30 |
| Jammed and bullied by the courtiers | |
| Of this strumpet Pompadour. | |
| |
| “Rose of Sharon!” chants an abbé, | |
| Fat and with the voice of four, | |
| Black silk stockings soiled by varlets | 35 |
| Of this Rahab Pompadour. | |
| |
| “Neck so swan-like,—Dea certe! | |
| Fit for monarchs to adore!” | |
| “Clear the way!” was still the echo, | |
| “For this Venus—Pompadour.” | 40 |
| |
| Open!—with the jar of thunder | |
| Fly the portals,—clocks strike four: | |
| With a burst of drums and trumpets | |
| Come the King and Pompadour. | |
| |
