John Brown and Jeanne at Fontainebleau-
‘Twas Toussaint, just a year ago;
Crimson and copper was the glow
Of all the woods at Fontainebleau.
They peered into that ancient well,
And watched the slow torch as it fell.
John gave the keeper two whole sous,
And Jeanne that smile with which she woos
John Brown to folly. So they lose
The Paris train. But never mind!-
All-Saints are rustling in the wind,
And there’s an inn, a crackling fire-
(It’s deux-cinquante, but Jeanne’s desire);
There’s dinner, candles, country wine,
Jeanne’s Lips-philosophy divine!
There was a bosquet at Saint Cloud
Wherein John’s picture of her grew
To be a Salon masterpiece-
Till the rain fell that would not cease.
Through one long alley how they raced!-
‘Twas gold and brown, and all a waste
Of matted leaves, moss-interlaced.
Shades of mad queens and hunter-kings
And thorn-sharp feet of dryad-things
Were company to their wanderings;
Then rain and darkness on them drew.
The rich folks’ motors honked and flew.
They hailed an old cab, heaven for two;
The bright Champs-Elys?es at last-
Though the cab crawled it sped too fast.
Paris, upspringing white and gold:
Flamboyant arch and high-enscrolled
War-sculpture, big, Napoleonic-
Fierce chargers, angels histrionic;
The royal sweep of gardened spaces,
The pomp and whirl of columned Places;
The Rive Gauche, age-old, gay and gray;
The impasse and the loved caf?;
The tempting tidy little shops;
The convent walls, the glimpsed tree-tops;
Book-stalls, old men like dwarfs in plays;
Talk, work, and Latin Quarter ways.
May-Robinson’s, the chestnut trees-
Were ever crowds as gay as these?
The quick pale waiters on a run,
The round green tables, one by one,
Hidden away in amorous bowers-
Lilac, laburnum’s golden showers.
Kiss, clink of glasses, laughter heard,
And nightingales quite undeterred.
And then that last extravagance-
O Jeanne, a single amber glance
Will pay him-“Let’s play millionaire
For just two hours-on princely fare,
At some hotel where lovers dine
? deux and pledge across the wine!”
They find a damask breakfast-room,
Where stiff silk roses range their bloom.
The gar?on has a splendid way
Of bearing in grand d?jeuner.
Then to be left alone, alone,
High up above Rue Castiglione;
Curtained away from all the rude
Rumors, in silken solitude;
And, John, her head upon your knees-
Time waits for moments such as these.
(Florence Wilkinson)
More Poetry from Florence Wilkinson:
Florence Wilkinson Poems based on Topics: Heaven, Running, Place, Countries, Angels, Wine, Solitude, Space, Money & Wealth, Gold, Stupidity- Our Lady of Idleness (Florence Wilkinson Poems)
- The Fugitives (Florence Wilkinson Poems)
- The Hearts Country (Florence Wilkinson Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Mind Poems, Time Poems, Heaven Poems, Place Poems, Gold Poems, Money & Wealth Poems, Work & Career Poems, Angels Poems, Running Poems, Wine Poems, Kiss PoemsBased on Keywords: deux, laburnum, chargers, upspringing, dwarfs, caf, jeanne, columned, age-old, rive, undeterred
- The Helot (Isabella Valancy Crawford Poems)
- The Believer's Soliloquy; Especially in Times of Desertion, Temptation, Affliction (Ralph Erskine Poems)
- The School-Boy (Oliver Wendell Holmes Poems)
- The School Of The Heart. Lesson The First (Henry Alford Poems)
- The Three Gossips' Wager (Jean de La Fontaine Poems)