Sonnet 60 - Paris, The City Of Love - Poem by Dennis Lange
The nymph reclines, her head against the rail,
Blue Seine below, the golden sky above,
As she surveys the scene of Cupid's trail -
The city where he spread the dust of love.
He sprinkled passion's charm o'er tower and spire,
And graced the mother tongue with silken touch
So lover's words become an angel choir
That quickly moves a heart, and moves it much.
The lamp will light by setting of the sun,
And night will fall where love is set aflame.
More chemistry, and Cupid's work is done
Without the arrows that have brought him fame.
The foreplay of the city's sights and sounds
Become the prompt of love, its wine, its grounds.
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