- Ah Clemence! when I saw thee last
- Trip down the Rue de Seine,
- And turning, when thy form had past,
- I said, "We meet again," –
- I dreamed not in that idle glance
- Thy latest image came,
- And only left to memory's trance
- A shadow and a name.
- The few strange words my lips had taught
- Thy timid voice to speak,
- Their gentler signs, which often brought
- Fresh roses to thy cheek,
- The trailing of thy long loose hair
- Bent o'er my couch of pain,
- All, all returned, more sweet, more fair;
- Oh, had we met again!
- I walked where saint and virgin keep
- The vigil lights of Heaven,
- I knew that thou hadst woes to weep,
- And sins to be forgiven;
- I watched where Genevieve was laid,
- I knelt by Mary's shrine,
- Beside me low, soft voices prayed;
- Alas! but where was thine?
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- And when the morning sun was bright,
- When wind and wave were calm,
- And flamed, in thousand-tinted light,
- The rose of Notre Dame,
- I wandered through the haunts of men,
- From Boulevard to Quai,
- Till, frowning o'er Saint Etienne,
- The Pantheon's shadow lay.
- In vain, in vain; we meet no more,
- Nor dream what fates befall;
- And long upon the stranger's shore
- My voice on thee may call,
- When years have clothed the line in moss
- That tells thy name and days,
- And withered, on thy simple cross,
- The wreaths of Pere-la-Chaise!
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