APPARENT FAILURE. "We shall soon lose a celebrated building." Paris Newspaper. 1. No, for I'll save it! Seven years since, Saw, made my bow, and went my way: I took the Seine-side, you surmise, 2. Only the Doric little Morgue! drowned: The dead-house where you show your Petrarch's Vaucluse makes proud the Sorgue, Your Morgue has made the Seine renowned. One pays one's debt in such a case; I plucked up heart and entered, stalked, Keeping a tolerable face Compared with some whose cheeks were chalked : Let them! No Briton's to be balked! 3. First came the silent gazers; next, The three men who did most abhor So killed themselves: and now, enthroned Each on his copper couch, they lay Fronting me, waiting to be owned. 4. Poor men, God made, and all for that! The reverence struck me; o'er each head Religiously was hung its hat, Each coat dripped by the owner's bed, Sacred from touch: each had his berth, His bounds, his proper place of rest, Who last night tenanted on earth Some arch, where twelve such slept abreast, Unless the plain asphalte seemed best. 5. How did it happen, my poor boy? You wanted to be Buonaparte And have the Tuileries for toy, And could not, so it broke your heart? You, old one by his side, I judge, Were, red as blood, a socialist, What fancy was it, turned your brain? O, women were the prize for you! Money gets women, cards and dice Get money, and ill-luck gets just The copper couch and one clear nice |