. The charm of Paris : an anthology . e wave-like roofs, and wakes with magic touch A thousand mirrors in the sleeping Seine. The water gleams een as a maidens breast Sparkling with gems. The bosom of the Seine Pillows to-night more jewels than eer shone Upon a queens white neck in days of old I . . And see, on every side, pinnacles, towers, Domes, cupolas, like helmets glittering 1 Walls, roofs of evry hue, chequered with light And shade; mazes of streets; vast palaces, Stifled amid the sordid dwellings which Around their splendour cling like parasites. Here, there, before, behind, to right,
. The charm of Paris : an anthology . e wave-like roofs, and wakes with magic touch A thousand mirrors in the sleeping Seine. The water gleams een as a maidens breast Sparkling with gems. The bosom of the Seine Pillows to-night more jewels than eer shone Upon a queens white neck in days of old I . . And see, on every side, pinnacles, towers, Domes, cupolas, like helmets glittering 1 Walls, roofs of evry hue, chequered with light And shade; mazes of streets; vast palaces, Stifled amid the sordid dwellings which Around their splendour cling like parasites. Here, there, before, behind, to right, to left. Houses, and yet more houses I With her brush Of fire the night has painted them anew— A hundred thousand houses ! . , . Neath this same Horizon, Tyre and Rome and Babylon Arose and sank, prodigious masses, built By mans own hand. . Chaos so vast one might Have thought created by the Hand of God. III. And yet, O Notre Dame, though Paris robedIn flame-like vesture is so beauty vanishes if one should leave. NOTRK DAME PORTRAITS OF PLACES 239 Thy towers and reach the level earth fades and changes then ; nought grand is leftSave only thee. . For O, within thy wallsThe Lord God makes His Dwelling ! Through thy darkAnd shadowy places Heavens angels move,And hght thee with reflections from their , world of poetry in this world of prose !At sight of thee a knocking at the heartIs felt, a perfect faith makes pure the evening damascenes thee with her gold,And in the dingy square thou, gleaming, standstLike a huge monstrance on a purple dais,I can believe that by a miracle Between thy towers the Lord might show small our bourgeois monuments appearBeside thy gallic majesty ! No dome,No spire, however proud, can vie with thee—Thou seemst indeed to strike against the sky IWho could prefer, een in pedantic poor bare Grecian styles, these Pantheons,These antique fripperies, perishing with cold,And scarcely knowing
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookpublisherlondo, bookyear1913
