“The Most Beautiful Life in History”
(Oscar Wilde on the life of Paul Verlaine)
Wilde’s entertaining Magdalen French did not
Amuse Verlaine. The fireworks of those words
Were sparkling like champagne but they meant squat
To Paul—or were as sexy brown as turds
To taste accustomed to the freaked out thrills
Of absinthe shots. Besides, those gold-tipped fags
From Bond Street Oscar flashed around sent chills
Up Verlaine’s green-eyed spine encased in rags.
The ugliness of Paul gave Wilde a fright
In his esthetic soul, sent shivers down
His velvet back. The very loathsome sight
Of backstreet hobo Paul made Oscar frown.
That meeting in Francois Premier was bound
By fate to have a pre-Cadogan sound.
Verlaine in the Cafe Francois Premier with his absinthe