Eleanor, 05-June 27 Arrival in France, Paris

June 27

ARRIVAL IN FRANCE

And is this France, the land of Romance?
And am I on French soil?
I look to see, for surety,
And see just "Texaco Oil."

This sort of sight of which I write
Is what makes Paris queer,
For bits of the past and building vast
Seem quite appropriate here.

For all things strange that come in range
I'm looking more and more.
But I rather resent the time I've spent
Seeing things I've seen before.

So I can't complain of the railroad train
That brought us from the boat,
That took us away to a distant day
And a country far remote.

June 28

PARIS

This day's been much too full for me to record it,
There've been a million different things to see.
I could stay at Mal Masion a week if I could afford it,
And still realize how ignorant I would be.

Not a dozen days in the year the fountains are playing,
In the gardens around the palace of Versailles.
If my words flowed out, as their thousand jets were spraying,
I couldn't describe them, no matter if I'd try.

The palace itself is huge beyond all telling,
If I looked at it all, I'd surely be looking yet.
The Petit Trianon's a somewhat cozier dwelling,
And the dairy built for amusing Marie Antonette.

I looked and I walked till my head and my feet were tired,
Covering miles of marvelous marble floors.
In the palace of him who to be the Sun aspired.
Now I'll go to sleep and dream of Louis Quatorze