O FRANCE, with what a shamed and sorry smile <br />We now recall that in a bygone day <br />We sought of you art, wit, perfection, style; <br />You were to us a playground and a play. <br />Paris was ours - its sudden green edged spaces <br />And sweeping vistas to the coming night, <br />Brocades and jewels, porcelains and laces <br />All these we took for leisure and delight. <br />And all the time we should have drunk our fill <br />Of wisdom known to you and you alone, <br />Clear-eyed self-knowledge, silent courage, will; <br />And now too late, we see these things are one: <br />That art is sacrifice and self-control, <br />And who loves beauty must be stern of soul.<br /><br />Alice Duer Miller<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-american-to-france/