Magician hands through long, laborious nights
Have made these princely palaces to loom
Whiter than are the city's legion lights,
On threads unseen stretched out across the gloom.
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This is serious good writing, I'm glad to see he has another side to his talent than the winking fun side which he handles with a skill Twain would have appreciated. This poem is remarkable- -
- -The Seine in silence blots away the past.
Blots out the warning of cathedral bells,
The night of snowy scarfs, of swords, of staves,
The muffled bass of tumbril wheels that tells
Of mortal men that dig immortal graves;
Blots out the faces, calmly unafraid,
Of prince and peasant, courtesan and queen,
When men made martyrs and were martyrs made,
When France meant Hell and God meant Guillotine!
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This is serious good writing, I'm glad to see he has another side to his talent than the winking fun side which he handles with a skill Twain would have appreciated. This poem is remarkable- - - -The Seine in silence blots away the past. Blots out the warning of cathedral bells, The night of snowy scarfs, of swords, of staves, The muffled bass of tumbril wheels that tells Of mortal men that dig immortal graves; Blots out the faces, calmly unafraid, Of prince and peasant, courtesan and queen, When men made martyrs and were martyrs made, When France meant Hell and God meant Guillotine!