Page:The Garden of Years.djvu/43



Waywardest wanton of the world to woo,

Blackest of heart, of face the most sublime,

O Cleopatran city, through and through

Blazing with sin and splendor, once I knew

No star upon the black night of thy crime;

Till on the stagnant bosom of thy slime

Bloomed a white lily with a heart of gold:—

Heart of my heart, what matters it if Time

Damned this fair city in the days of old?

She stands regenerate, as the home of you!

As the rank refuse of the city goes

Out to the sea, that maketh all things clean,

So past your doorway all her folly flows,

Rubbish purged pure by one redeeming rose:—

Paris and Hell, but your face in between!

Upon that ground where rose the guillotine

Your slender feet, like benedictions, fall.

With this redress the grim Fates intervene:—

The past is naught, dear love, and you are all!

Paris is pure since your pure eyes she knows.