The Shade-Catchers

I think they were about as highAs haycocks are. They went running byCatching bits of shade in the sunny street:“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.

It is dark up here on the heights,Between the dome and the stars it is quiet too,While down there under the crowded lightsFlares the importunate face of you,Dear Paris of the hot white hands, the scarlet lips, thescented hair,Une jolie fille à vendre, très cher;A thing of gaiety, a thing of sorrow,Bought to-night, possessed, and tossedBack to the mart again to-morrow,Worth and over, what you cost;While half your charm is that you areWithal, like some unpurchasable star,So old, so young and infinite and lost.

It is dark on the dome-capped hill,Serenely dark, divinely still,Yet here is the Man who bought you firstDying of his immortal smart,Your Lover, the King with the broken heart,Who while you, feasting, drink your fill,Pass round the cupNot looking up,Calls down to you, “I thirst.”

“A king with a broken heart! Mon Dieu!One breaks so many, cela peut se croire,To remember all c’est la mer à boire,And the first, mais comme c’est vieux.Perhaps there is still some keepsake--orOne has possibly sold it for a song:On ne peut pas toujours pleurer les morts,And this One--He has been dead so long!”