“I’ve got one,” cried sister to brother.
“I’ve got two.” “Now I’ve got another.”
But scudding away on their little bare feet,
They left the shade in the sunny street.
LE SACRÉ-CŒUR (Montmartre)
It is dark up here on the heights,
Between the dome and the stars it is quiet too,
While down there under the crowded lights
Flares the importunate face of you,
Dear Paris of the hot white hands, the scarlet lips, the scented hair,