At Fontainebleau, I saw a little bed
    Fashioned of polished wood, with gold ornate,
    Ambition, hope, and sorrow, ay, and hate
Once battled there, above a childish head,
And there in vain, grief wept, and memory plead
    It was so small! but Ah, dear God, how great
    The part it played in one sad woman's fate.
How wide the gloom, that narrow object shed.

The symbol of an over-reaching aim,
    The emblem of a devastated joy,
       It spoke of glory, and a blasted home:
Of fleeting honours, and disordered fame,
    And the lone passing of a fragile boy.
                .          .          .          .          .
       It was the cradle of the King of Rome.