Ah, Paris, Paris! What an echo rings Still in those syllables of vain delight! What voice of what dead pleasures on what wings Of Mænad laughters pulsing through the night! How bravely her streets smile on me! How bright Her shops, her houses, fair sepulchral things, Stored with the sins of men forgotten quite, The loves of mountebanks, the lusts of kings! What message has she to me on this day Of my new life? Shall I, a pilgrim wan, Sit at her board and revel at her play, As in the days of old? Nay, this is done. It cannot be; and yet I love her well With her broad roads and pleasant paths to Hell. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SYMPATHY by HENRY DAVID THOREAU MAIDEN'S CHOICE by CAROLYN M. BARBER SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 19. THE SOUTHERN PASSION by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) ON W.S. by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB FROM THE GRASS by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON THE WINGED MARINERS by ADA CAMBRIDGE I WANT THE HORIZON by THEODORA BATES COGSWELL |