shall see the King of Rome; he says some harsh things and some pleasant.
But she is there, close to him, rose toned to amber, white shot
with violet,
pungent to his nostrils as embalmed rose-leaves in a twilit room.
Suddenly the Emperor calls his carriage and rolls
away
across the looping Seine.
VI
Crystal-blue brightness over the glass-houses. Crystal-blue
streaks
and ripples over the lake. A macaw on a gilded perch
screams;
they have forgotten to take out his dinner. The windows
shake. Boom! Boom!
It is the rumbling of Prussian cannon beyond Pecq. Roses
bloom at Malmaison.
Roses! Roses! Swimming above their leaves,
rotting beneath them.
Fallen flowers strew the unraked walks. Fallen flowers
for a fallen Emperor!
The General in charge of him draws back and watches. Snatches
of music --
snarling, sneering music of bagpipes. They say a Scotch
regiment
is besieging Saint-Denis. The Emperor wipes his face,
or is it his eyes.
His tired eyes which see nowhere the grace they long for. Josephine!
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