Classic Poem

Les pigeons de la Bourse

Pigeons, who erst to Love's own car
 Were harnessed by the Muse,
Say, whither now ye speed your way?
Alas! to Brussels ye convey
 The money-market news
Thus noble rips and upstart fools,
 In all things bent on trade,
Have Venus' gentle messengers,
Into stock-brokers made

What! then, on poesy and love
 Mankind in vain were nursed;
And now-a-days for golden pelf,
That withers, ay, even Beauty's self,
 With fevered frenzy thirst!
To punish us, O faithful birds,
 Our greedy vultures fly!
With love and song upon your wings
 Go, seek again the sky!