Dominoes are hanging, like 88 wind-chimes, inside a

Record shop window;  whereinto an old Irish priest, once a dreamer of becoming

Michelangelo, or Liszt the virtuoso, today called

'Father Manyon,'  is gazing, recalling the scented

Solitary pine, on the hillside of his home town; whereunder he used to recite

La Belle Dame sans Merci, often so much wishing to

See the pale sighing face, oh, that face of the childish poem-writer,---

Dominoes, right at this moment, all start shivering, on the wind, also swinging, then tapping, one by one, onto the reflecting window-pane.