Page:Poetry, a magazine of verse, Volume 7 (October 1915-March 1916).djvu/247



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