The Tuileries are in a trance
because the painters have
stared at them so long
Little boys in black overalls whose hands, sticky with
play, are like the newly furled leaves of the horse-
chestnuts ride round and round on wooden horses till
their heads turn.
Pigeons perch on statues
And are turned to stone.
[Extract]
Extracted from the longer, avant-garde poem, Paris. Other extracts on the author page of Hope Mirrlees.
The Tuileries are famous gardens in the heart of Paris by the Louvre Museum.
Poetry Atlas has many poems about Paris.