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Show THE AFTERWARD By Tod Goodwin. Alone beside the garden where Long years ago, before Sedan, You came in youth and beauty rare, A bride, an Empress, to the man Destined to be the last of those ,. To sway the sceptre over Prance But now you are denied a rose, With reprimand and meaning glance. So was it ever, those who drank The deepest at the fount of life, Lived but to dream of vanished rank Or fall beneath the headsman's knife. Before those gardens, Antoinette Looked last upon the day at close And then, the guardsmen would not let Her touch the petals of a rose. How deep the hurt, ah! who can tell? There at the theatre of your might , Where with your Prince you used to dwell Gold, velvet patches, shreds, then night. The Tuileries, the name was hemmed About with sullen threats for those, Who raised to splendor, were condemned, Without the solace of a rose. L'Envol. Power and glory are for some, But only for a little day; And ere the end of all has come, The rose of life has passed away. |