WITH ripples of blinding fire all Broadway wavered ashine, And taxicabs streamed by like great black beetles in line, When into my being she stepped,—she, like a goddess, aglow In an exquisite clinging gown,—I, in my rags and woe! Was she the mate of the thing brutish, bloated and old?— I opened the taxi for them and into the night they rolled. She touched my heart like a flower and made the world grow sweet: He tossed me a silver coin ... I let it lie in the street ... |