are all that remain. And so to-night I am going to spend them,
not prudently on bread, but prodigally on beer.

As I stroll down the Boul' Mich' the lingering light has all
the exquisite tenderness of violet; the trees are in their first
translucent green; beneath them the lamps are lit with purest gold,
and from the Little Luxembourg comes a silver jangle of tiny voices.
Taking the gay side of the street, I enter a cafe. Although it isn't
its true name, I choose to call my cafe --




~L'Escargot D'Or~



O Tavern of the Golden Snail!
Ten ~sous~ have I, so I'll regale;
Ten ~sous~ your amber brew to sip
(Eight for the ~bock~ and two the tip),
And so I'll sit the evening long,
And smoke my pipe and watch the throng,
The giddy crowd that drains and drinks,
I'll watch it quiet as a sphinx;
And who among them all shall buy
For ten poor ~sous~ such joy as I?
As I who, snugly tucked away,
Look on it all as on a play,
A frolic scene of love and fun,