The Rive Gauche, age-old, gay and gray;

The impasse and the loved café;

The tempting tidy little shops;

The convent walls, the glimpsed tree-tops;

Book-stalls, old men like dwarfs in plays;

Talk, work, and Latin Quarter ways.

May—Robinson’s, the chestnut trees—

Were ever crowds as gay as these?

The quick pale waiters on a run,

The round green tables, one by one,