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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=392144" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Père-la-Chaise</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=392144" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">(PARIS)</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=392144" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I STOOD in Père-la-Chaise. The putrid City,<br>Paris, the harlot of the nations, lay,<br>The bug-bright thing that knows not love nor pity,<br>Flashing her bare shame to the summer's day.<br>Here where I stand, they slew you, brothers, whom<br>Hell's wrongs unutterable had made as mad.<br>The rifle shots re-echoed in his tomb,<br>The gilded scoundrel's who had been so glad.<br>O Morny, O blood-sucker of thy race —<br>O brain, O hand that wrought out empire that<br>The lust in one for power, for tinsel place,<br>Might rest; one lecher's hungry heart grow fat —<br>Is it for nothing, now and evermore,<br>O you whose sin in life had death in ease,<br>The murder of your victims beats the door<br>Wherein your careless carrion lies at peace?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Francis+William+Lauderdale+Adams">Francis William Lauderdale Adams</a></strong></div>