The Children s Angel
The streets are dark at Clermont in Auvern.
—O steep and tortuous lava-streets, how plain
With eyes that dream in daylight I discern
Your narrow skies and gabled roofs again!
See, through the splendours of the summer heat
We climb the hill from Notre Dame du Port,
A mountain at the end of every street,
And every mountain crowned with tower or fort.
Until, on the upmost ridges of the town.
We turn into the narrowest street of all.
And watch, at either end, the way slope down
As steep and sudden as a waterfall!
'Twas there, above a booth of huckster's ware,
Our Angel spread her broad and carven wings.
She smiled with painted eyes and burnished hair
Above a motley herd of trivial things;
A Chancel-angel desecrate! We turned
To barter for a price the lovely head.
The wide blue listening eyes, the brow that yearned.
The slim round neck and lips of palest red,
201
