In Paris last summer, a very beautiful thing
happening in France last summer, something extraordinarily
beautiful happened to me.
When Annie and I were married six years ago,
we discovered that we have about--
have we ever actually tried to count them?
We must have about 25 nieces altogether.
And they're all beautiful.
It was quite startling.
Two of our nieces came to see us in France last summer.
It was Karen and Laura.
They were 15 years old.
We met in Nice, and then we went to Avignon,
and then we had two whole weeks in Paris.
And I like Paris so much, so I said earlier,
and there I was in Paris with three beautiful women.
Paris is a very nice place to be with--
Paris is a nice place to be with--
I'm getting mixed up in the grammar of the sentence.
It's very nice to be with beautiful women anywhere,
but there's something kind of special about Paris.
And I wanted to go, one morning, to the very great cathedral
of St. Sulpice.
I learned about that cathedral from Annie,
who had lived in Paris earlier, and I
came to love the cathedral.
It's on the left side of the river.
It is just spectacularly beautiful,
a rather reserved cathedral.
I mean, it's not flamboyant or anything like that,
but it's so beautifully built for the music of the organ.
And the great organist, Marcel Dupre, had been there.
That was even before my time.
Well, one morning, I believe it was just about the--
it was one of the last mornings.
I was in a hurry to get over there,
and a lot of hair combing went on.
All right.
We made it to the cathedral in time.
I thought that I would write a poem maybe
to the ghost of Marcel Dupre explaining
why we were slightly late.
"To Marcel Dupre, Organist at St. Sulpice"
Singing alone, in the only place I will ever know,
I am combing my hair this morning.
My three loves are going to make me late
because the Spartan sat down beside the rock
and combed their hair into the sea.
Mr. Dupre, may I come home to you and weep back in secret?
I have good reason.
I just want you to come over and sit down with me
alone, just you and me.
Let them go flower.
Every time I wake up in Paris, I see women combing their hair.
I know very well this morning, over at the Luxembourg Gardens,
the slight and plump blossoms are turning green,
a sheer despair of summer.
But ah, Mr. Dupre, I have everything
I ever longed for except the water, tousled and amazing.
What does the water think of rushed through their hair?
Mr. Dupre, I bring you with me, Karen East,
who is young in Paris, Laura Lee, who is young in Paris,
and my love, young, all three.
The fates have changed their names again,
and now they are beautiful women--
drowsy, tousled, half-awake, laughing.
They have kept me waiting half awake in your music
and the cathedral of St. Sulpice is the water
that combs their hair.
It is the sea it is the secret stone.
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]