C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

The Curé’s Progress

MONSIEUR THE CURÉ down the street

Comes with his kind old face,—

With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair,

And his green umbrella-case.

You may see him pass by the little “Grande Place,”

And the tiny “Hôtel-de-Ville”;

He smiles as he goes, to the fleuriste Rose,

And the pompier Théophile.

He turns as a rule through the “Marché” cool,

Where the noisy fishwives call;

And his compliment pays to the “belle Thérèse,”

As she knits in her dusky stall.

There’s a letter to drop at the locksmith’s shop,

And Toto, the locksmith’s niece,

Has jubilant hopes, for the Curé gropes

In his tails for a pain d’épice.

There’s a little dispute with a merchant of fruit

Who is said to be heterodox,

That will ended be with a “Ma foi, oui!”

And a pinch from the Curé’s box.

There is also a word that no one heard

To the furrier’s daughter Lou;

And a pale cheek fed with a flickering red,

And a “Bon Dieu garde M’sieu!”

But a grander way for the Sous-Préfet,

And a bow for Ma’am’selle Anne;

And a mock “off-hat” to the Notary’s cat,

And a nod to the Sacristan:—

For ever through life the Curé goes

With a smile on his kind old face—

With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair,

And his green umbrella-case.