A Small Cafe in a Side Street,
June 1914.




The Bohemian Dreams



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