LA TOUR DE L'HORLOGE
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13
THE LITTLE OLD WOMEN - I
to Victor Hugo

In the wrinkled folds
of old capitals, where all,
even horror, turns
to an enchantment, I lie
in wait, and obedient

to my fatal whims
for singular characters,
decrepit, charming.
These dislocated monsters
were once women - Éponine

or Laïs! Hump-backed,
old freaks raddled or twisted -
but we should love them!
They still have human souls, and
under tattered skirts and thin

petticoats they crawl
whipped by the chill winter gales,
shocked by the grinding
racket of omnibuses,
and clutching to their sides, like
next French