Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/75

Rh

, June 1914.

Because my overcoat’s in pawn, I choose to take my glass Within a little bistro on The rue du Montparnasse; The dusty bins with bottles shine, The counter’s lined with zinc, And there I sit and drink my wine, And think and think and think.

I think of hoary old Stamboul, Of Moslem and of Greek, Of Persian in coat of wool, Of Kurd and Arab sheikh; Of all the types of weal and woe, And as I raise my glass, Across Galata bridge I know They pass and pass and pass.

I think of citron-trees aglow, Of fan-palms shading down, Of sailors dancing heel and toe With wenches black and brown; And though it’s all an ocean far From Yucatan to France,