Latin Quarter Backwater Painting

Come out into the evening streets of the Latin Quarter. The green light lessens in the west. The city laughs and liveliest her fervid pulse of pleasure beats. The belfry on Saint Severin strikes eight across the smoking eaves: Come out under the lights and leaves to the Reine Blanche on Saint Germain. ... Now crowded diners fill the floor of brasserie and restaurant. Shrill voices cry "L'Intransigeant," and corners echo "Paris-Sport." Where rows of tables from the street are screened with shoots of box and bay, The ragged minstrels sing and play and gather sous from those that eat. And old men stand with menu-cards, inviting passers-by to dine On the bright terraces that line the Latin Quarter boulevards. ... But, having drunk and eaten well, 'tis pleasant then to stroll along And mingle with the merry throng that promenades on Saint Michel. Here saunter types of every sort. The shoddy jostle with the chic: Turk and Roumanian and Greek; student and officer and sport; Slavs with their peasant, Christ-like heads, and courtezans like powdered moths, And peddlers from Algiers, with cloths bright-hued and stitched with golden threads; And painters with big, serious eyes go rapt in dreams, fantastic shapes In corduroys and Spanish capes and locks uncut and flowing ties; And lovers wander two by two, oblivious among the press, And making one of them no less, all lovers shall be dear to you: All laughing lips you move among, all happy hearts that, knowing what Makes life worth while, have wasted not the sweet reprieve of being young. "Comment ca va!" "Mon vieux!" "Mon cher!" Friends greet and banter as they pass. 'Tis sweet to see among the mass comrades and lovers everywhere.