Paroxysms of Caesar
pale, walks the flowering lawns,
Dressed in black, cigar between his teeth.
The pale man thinks about the Tuileries
In flower…and at times his dead eye flames.
His twenty years of orgy have made him drink!
He told himself: ‘I will extinguish
Liberty As I put out a candle– softly, politely…’
Liberty lives again! He feels worn out.
They’ve caught him. Now what name trembles
On his silent lips? What quick regret?
No one will know: the Emperor’s eye is dead.
He sees again, perhaps, the man in the pince-nez…
And watches drifting from his lighted cigar,
Like evenings at St. Cloud, a thin blue haze.