The panels of a chaise and pair.
The postboy yelled, and an amazed
Face from the carriage window gazed.
She jumped back just in time, her heart
Beating with fear. Through whirling light
The chaise departed, but her smart
Was keen and bitter. In the white
Dust of the street she saw a bright
Streak of colours, wet and gay,
Red like blood. Crushed but fair,
Her fruit stained the cobbles of the way.
Monsieur Popain joined her there.
Tiens, Mademoiselle,
cest le General Bonaparte,
partant pour la Guerre!
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2016-03-17
2016-03-17
2016-03-17
2016-03-17
2016-03-17
2016-03-17