At The Ambassadeurs

TO YVETTE GUILBERT That was Yvette. The blithe Ambassadeurs Glitters, this Sunday of the Fête des Fleurs; Here are the flowers, too, living flowers that blow A night or two before the odours go; And all the flowers of all the city ways Are laughing, with Yvette, this day of days. Laugh, with Yvette? But I must first forget, Before I laugh, that I have heard Yvette. For the flowers fade before her: see, the light Dies out of that poor cheek, and leaves it white; And a chill shiver takes me as she sings The pity of unpitied human things; A woe beyond all weeping, tears that trace The very wrinkles of the last grimace.