NOT one mass will e'er be chanted, Not one Hebrew prayer be mutter'd, When the day I died returneth, -- Nothing will be sung or utter'd. Yet upon that day, it may be, If the weather has not chill'd her, On a visit to Montmartre With Pauline will go Matilda. With a wreath of immortelles she'll Deck my grave in foreign fashion, Sighing say "@3pauvre homme!@1" and sadly Drop a tear of fond compassion. I shall then too high be dwelling, And, alas! no chair have ready For my darling's use to offer, As she walks with feet unsteady. Sweet, stout little one, return not Home on foot, I must implore thee; At the barrier gate is standing A fiacre all ready for thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MAGDALEN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE LITTLE BOY FOUND, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE HARLEM DANCER by CLAUDE MCKAY VALENTINES TO MY MOTHER: 1878 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THIRTY EIGHT. ADDRESSED TO MRS. H -- Y. by CHARLOTTE SMITH |