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On the Stair
39
They tore the buckles out of his shoes,
The diamond rings from his finger,
Then trampled across him—no time to lose
Nor linger.
But a ray of sunlight stole up the stair,
And dropped an aureole over his hair.
••••••
The place where the palace stood you scan
In vain, for the palace no longer is there:
Not a stone is left of that marble stair,
And the clock is sold to a nobleman
For his chateau in Angleterre.
Whilst Boucher's Nymph, so rosy of hue,
Twirling her scarf of vaporous blue,
Still smiles—in New York's Fifth Avenue.
