A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." By Douglas B. W. Sladen |
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 | A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." |  |
Two months were left ere term began,
And one of them like lightning ran
In wandering about with Lil,
And sometimes driving out with Will
All over pleasant Waratah
And stations that were not too far.
And one of them like lightning ran
In wandering about with Lil,
And sometimes driving out with Will
All over pleasant Waratah
And stations that were not too far.
Then the Professor had to leave
To make his home fit to receive
Its pretty mistress (for the day
Was fixed, long ere he went away,
To be some three weeks' space before
The long vacation time was o'er).
And Lil, the day that he went back,
Went to their own house in Toorak
With Mrs Forte, to help to choose
The furniture she was to use,
Her father's wedding gift. He gave
Carte blanche to both of them to have
Whatever they thought requisite
To deck their house or furnish it.
Three weeks thus busy quickly passed,
Then Lil went back to spend her last
At home, while the Professor stayed,
And final preparations made
For their reception. For they meant
(And persevered in their intent)
To have their honeymoon at home
In their own house, and not to roam
In boarding-houses and hotels
As they saw everybody else,
Affording people food for jest
Or food for pity at the best.
To make his home fit to receive
Its pretty mistress (for the day
Was fixed, long ere he went away,
To be some three weeks' space before
The long vacation time was o'er).
And Lil, the day that he went back,
Went to their own house in Toorak
With Mrs Forte, to help to choose
The furniture she was to use,
Her father's wedding gift. He gave
Carte blanche to both of them to have
Whatever they thought requisite
To deck their house or furnish it.
Three weeks thus busy quickly passed,
Then Lil went back to spend her last
At home, while the Professor stayed,
And final preparations made
For their reception. For they meant
(And persevered in their intent)
To have their honeymoon at home
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In boarding-houses and hotels
As they saw everybody else,
Affording people food for jest
Or food for pity at the best.
How much more sensible it is
In ordinary marriages
Where the bridegroom has not too much
Of time or money in his clutch,
To spend the little that he has
In adding those etceteras
Which go to make a little house
Dainty if not luxurious.
In ordinary marriages
Where the bridegroom has not too much
Of time or money in his clutch,
To spend the little that he has
In adding those etceteras
Which go to make a little house
Dainty if not luxurious.
Much honeymoonshine in home life
Is not the lot of every wife,
And so the golden month should be
Economised most carefully
In gilding every room and nook,
A flower-bed here, and there a book,
With one of the small sorceries
So magical in lovers' eyes.
Is not the lot of every wife,
And so the golden month should be
Economised most carefully
In gilding every room and nook,
A flower-bed here, and there a book,
With one of the small sorceries
So magical in lovers' eyes.
Ah, pitiful! there's many a home
To which no love-making has come,
Passion's brief transport being spent
Ere they into its portals went,
The man a business-machine,
The woman not her husband's queen
But his housekeeper—and here judge
If I speak truth or not—his drudge.
To which no love-making has come,
Passion's brief transport being spent
Ere they into its portals went,
The man a business-machine,
The woman not her husband's queen
But his housekeeper—and here judge
If I speak truth or not—his drudge.
Newly-wed lovers should not roam,
But stay to beautify their home
With blossoms of the honeymoon,
So hard to mimic when it's gone.
But stay to beautify their home
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So hard to mimic when it's gone.
The weary reader will not care
To go to the upholsterer
With Lil to see how the refined
And graceful tenour of her mind
Declared itself in ottomans,
Or took an airy flight in fans,
But be content to leave her here
In the enchanted atmosphere
Of trysting days,—a maiden fair
Without the shadow of a care
To keep back from her passion-flower
The full spring-sunshine of its hour.
To go to the upholsterer
With Lil to see how the refined
And graceful tenour of her mind
Declared itself in ottomans,
Or took an airy flight in fans,
But be content to leave her here
In the enchanted atmosphere
Of trysting days,—a maiden fair
Without the shadow of a care
To keep back from her passion-flower
The full spring-sunshine of its hour.
| A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." | |