And what strange sights have these threewindows seen, <br />Mid bonnes and children, in the Tuileries! <br />What flights of hero, Emperor and Queen, <br />Since first I looked down from them, one of these! <br />Here, with his Mornys and his Persignys, <br />Louis Napoleon, the Prince President, <br />Rode one December past us, on the breeze <br />Of his new glory, bloodstained and intent. <br />Later, I too my love's diplomacies <br />Played at Eugenia's court,--blest Empress! Then <br />How did men curse her with their Marseillaise, <br />When the foe's horse was watered in her Seine, <br />And the flames, lit for her last festival, <br />Licked out her palace and its glories all.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-new-pilgrimage-sonnet-xiii/
