AT FONTAINEBLEAU

At Fontainebleau, I saw a little bed

Fashioned of polished wood, with gold ornate,

Ambition, hope, and sorrow, ay, and hate

Once battled there, above a childish head,

And there in vain, grief wept, and memory plead

It was so small! but Ah, dear God, how great

The part it played in one sad woman's fate.

How wide the gloom, that narrow object shed.

The symbol of an over-reaching aim,

The emblem of a devastated joy,

It spoke of glory, and a blasted home:

Of fleeting honours, and disordered fame,

And the lone passing of a fragile boy.

It was the cradle of the King of Rome.