And nightingales quite undeterred.
And then that last extravagance—
O Jeanne, a single amber glance
Will pay him—"Let's play millionaire
For just two hours—on princely fare,
At some hotel where lovers dine
À deux and pledge across the wine!"
They find a damask breakfast-room,
Where stiff silk roses range their bloom.
The garçon has a splendid way
Of bearing in grand déjeuner
Then to be left alone, alone,
High up above Rue Castiglione;
Curtained away from all the rude
Rumors, in silken solitude;
And, John her head upon your knees—
Time waits for moments such as these.
THE LITTLE CAFE
Montparnasse
Sleek, pleasant, pompous and paternal
Is our Eugene;
High priest and saint and alchemist of
His copper-bright cuisine.
He knows us all, translates us into French—
Sonia the Muscovite,
[189]
