That was Yvette. The blithe Ambassadeurs Glitters, this Sunday of the Fete des Fleurs; Here are the flowers, too, living flowers that blow A night or two before the odours go; And all the flowers of all the city ways Are laughing, with Yvette, this day of days. Laugh, with Yvette? But I must first forget, Before I laugh, that I have heard Yvette. For the flowers fade before her; see, the light Dies out of that poor cheek, and leaves it white; She sings of life, and mirth, and all that moves Man's fancy in the carnival of loves; And a chill shiver takes me as she sings The pity of unpitied human things. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DISAPPOINTED by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR HOMAGE TO THE BRITISH MUSEUM by WILLIAM EMPSON THE NATIONAL PAINTINGS: COL. TRUMBULL'S 'THE DECLARATION...' by FITZ-GREENE HALLECK LIMERICK by OLIVER BROOK HERFORD AN EPITAPH ON A ROBIN REDBEAST by SAMUEL ROGERS BY THE SEA by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SONNET WRITTEN IN THE FALL OF 1914: 2 by GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY |