THROUGH the street of St. Germain
March the tattered hosts of rain,
–
While the wind with vagrant fife
Whips their chilly ranks to life.
–
From the window I can see
Their ghostly banners blowing free,
–
As they pass to where the ships
Crowd about the wharves and slips.
–
There at day’s end they embark
To invade the realms of dark,
–
And the sun comes out again
In the street of St. Germain.
– In St. Germain Street by William Bliss Carman