Mid-Day at Trinity

The pigeons perch on Trinity,
From cowls of saints they croon;
In pious patience preen their wings
Till Trinity strikes noon.

They make their vows to visions fair,
The maids with mid-day smiles;
They wait their own communion sweet—
The crumbs along the aisles.

And presently from Wall Street strolls
A princess past a gate;
She pries apart a paper box
As if she scarce could wait.

She sinks upon an old settee,
Her luncheon in her lap;
And other maidens follow her—
A score or more, mayhap.

The pigeons peer from pinnacles,
They see their tables spread;
The sugar and the spices strewn,
The crusts of creamy bread.

The saints upon the walls maintain
Their attitudes benign;
But conquered by confusing quests,
The doves drift down to dine.