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From “Latin Quarter Ways”
JOHN BROWN and Jeanne at Fontainebleau— | |
| ’Twas Toussaint, just a year ago; | |
| Crimson and copper was the glow | |
| Of all the woods at Fontainebleau. | |
| They peered into that ancient well, | 5 |
| And watched the slow torch as it fell. | |
| John gave the keeper two whole sous, | |
| And Jeanne that smile with which she woos | |
| John Brown to folly. So they lose | |
| The Paris train. But never mind!— | 10 |
| All-Saints are rustling in the wind, | |
| And there’s an inn, a crackling fire— | |
| (It’s deux-cinquante, but Jeanne’s desire); | |
| There’s dinner, candles, country wine, | |
| Jeanne’s lips—philosophy divine! | 15 |
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| There was a bosquet at Saint Cloud | |
| Wherein John’s picture of her grew | |
| To be a Salon masterpiece— | |
| Till the rain fell that would not cease. | |
| Through one long alley how they raced!— | 20 |
| ’Twas gold and brown, and all a waste | |
| Of matted leaves, moss-interlaced. | |
| Shades of mad queens and hunter-kings | |
| And thorn-sharp feet of dryad-things | |
| Were company to their wanderings; | 25 |
| Then rain and darkness on them drew. | |
| The rich folks’ motors honked and flew. | |
| They hailed an old cab, heaven for two; | |
| The bright Champs-Elysées at last— | |
| Though the cab crawled it sped too fast. | 30 |
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| Paris, upspringing white and gold: | |
| Flamboyant arch and high-enscrolled | |
| War-sculpture, big, Napoleonic— | |
| Fierce chargers, angels histrionic; | |
| The royal sweep of gardened spaces, | 35 |
| The pomp and whirl of columned Places; | |
| The Rive Gauche, age-old, gay and gray; | |
| The impasse and the loved café; | |
| The tempting tidy little shops; | |
| The convent walls, the glimpsed tree-tops; | 40 |
| Book-stalls, old men like dwarfs in plays; | |
| Talk, work, and Latin Quarter ways. | |
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| May—Robinson’s, the chestnut trees— | |
| Were ever crowds as gay as these? | |
| The quick pale waiters on a run, | 45 |
| The round green tables, one by one, | |
| Hidden away in amorous bowers— | |
| Lilac, laburnum’s golden showers. | |
| Kiss, clink of glasses, laughter heard, | |
| And nightingales quite undeterred. | 50 |
| And then that last extravagance— | |
| O Jeanne, a single amber glance | |
| Will pay him!—“Let’s play millionaire | |
| For just two hours—on princely fare, | |
| At some hotel where lovers dine | 55 |
| À deux and pledge across the wine!” | |
| They find a damask breakfast-room, | |
| Where stiff silk roses range their bloom. | |
| The garçon has a splendid way | |
| Of bearing in grand déjeuner. | 60 |
| Then to be left alone, alone, | |
| High up above Rue Castiglione; | |
| Curtained away from all the rude | |
| Rumors, in silken solitude; | |
| And, John, her head upon your knees— | 65 |
| Time waits for moments such as these. | |
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