There was a lane behind the gasworks, they said
the sentier du gaz
where eager willing girls came in the night or
even in the twilight or by day.
shamefaced and furtive he hurried through the streets
conspicuously bowed, blushing at an encountered glance
and fetching wide detours
O how his heart beat in the sentier du gaz!
its dim warm length smelling of brimstone
And never an evening all that long summer
even when it rained
but he threaded its length five times and more
gliding into it form the main street with a despairing gasp.