You say I’ve lived too long in France
And wearied of the senses’ dance?
Like fresh air in an opium den
You’ll lead me out—to where? and when?
…. I fear no country’s ready yet
For our complexities: forget
The best of flesh and food to go
A’roaming o’er the world, and know
Discomfort’s great surprises few—?
No, let me travel just to you!