IN Paris all look'd hot and like to fade. Brown in the garden of the Tuileries, Brown with September, droop'd the chestnut-trees. 'twas dawn; a brougham roll'd through the streets, and made Halt at the white and silent colonnade Of the French Theatre. Worn with disease, Rachel, with eyes no gazing can appease, Sate in the brougham, and those blank walls survey'd. She follows the gay world, whose swarms have fled To Switzerland, to Baden, to the Rhine; Why stops she by this empty play-house drear? Ah, where the spirit its highest life hath led, All spots, match'd with that spot, are less divine; And Rachel's Switzerland, her Rhine, is here! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG OF KAREN, THE DANCING CHILD by KATHERINE MANSFIELD IN LOVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPECIAL PLEADING by SIDNEY LANIER SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: COONEY POTTER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS NORTH WIND TO DUTIFUL BEAST MIDWAY BETWEEN DIAL & FOOT OF GARDEN CLOCK by MARIANNE MOORE |