In France (to baffle thieves and murderers) <br />A journey takes two days of passport work <br />At least. The plan's sometimes a tedious one, <br />But bears its fruit. Because, the other day, <br />In passing by the Morgue, we saw a man <br />(The thing is common, and we never should <br />Have known of it, only we passed that way) <br />Who had been stabbed and tumbled in the Seine, <br />Where he had stayed some days. The face was black, <br />And, like a negro's, swollen; all the flesh <br />Had furred, and broken into a green mould. <br />Now, very likely, he who did the job <br />Was standing among those who stood with us, <br />To look upon the corpse. You fancy him— <br />Smoking an early pipe, and watching, as <br />An artist, the effect of his last work. <br />This always if it had not struck him that <br />'Twere best to leave while yet the body took <br />Its crust of rot beneath the Seine. It may: <br />But, if it did not, he can now remain <br />Without much fear. Only, if he should want <br />To travel, and have not his passport yet, <br />(Deep dogs these French police!) he may be caught. <br />Therefore you see (lest, being murderers, <br />We should not have the sense to go before <br />The thing were known, or to stay afterwards) <br />There is good reason why—having resolved <br />To start for Belgium—we were kept three days <br />To learn about the passports first, then do <br />As we had learned. This notwithstanding, in <br />The fullness of the time 'tis come to pass.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-paris-to-brussels-11-p-m-15-october-to-half-past-1-p-m-16-proem-at-the-paris-station/
