 | Collected poems |  |
293
A BROKEN SWORD
(TO A. L.)
The shopman shambled from the doorway out
And twitched it down—
Snapped in the blade! 'Twas scarcely dear, I doubt,
At half-a-crown.
And twitched it down—
Snapped in the blade! 'Twas scarcely dear, I doubt,
At half-a-crown.
Useless enough! And yet can still be seen,
In letters clear,
Traced on the metal's rusty damaskeen—
“Povr Paruenyr.”
In letters clear,
Traced on the metal's rusty damaskeen—
“Povr Paruenyr.”
Whose was it once?—Who manned it once in hope
His fate to gain?
Who was it dreamed his oyster-world should ope
To this—in vain?
His fate to gain?
Who was it dreamed his oyster-world should ope
To this—in vain?
Maybe with some stout Argonaut it sailed
The Western Seas;
Maybe but to some paltry Nym availed
For toasting cheese!
The Western Seas;
Maybe but to some paltry Nym availed
For toasting cheese!
294
Or decked by Beauty on some morning lawn
With silken knot,
Perchance, ere night, for Church and King 'twas drawn—
Perchance 'twas not!
With silken knot,
Perchance, ere night, for Church and King 'twas drawn—
Perchance 'twas not!
Who knows—or cares? To-day, 'mid foils and gloves
Its hilt depends,
Flanked by the favours of forgotten loves,—
Remembered friends;—
Its hilt depends,
Flanked by the favours of forgotten loves,—
Remembered friends;—
And oft its legend lends, in hours of stress,
A word to aid;
Or like a warning comes, in puffed success,
Its broken blade.
A word to aid;
Or like a warning comes, in puffed success,
Its broken blade.
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