Life and Phantasy by William Allingham: With frontispiece by Sir John E. Millais: A design by Arthur H. Hughes and a song for voice and piano forte |
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 | Life and Phantasy |  |
Midnight was past. I had proposed to find
A lodging near us; for, to say the truth,
I could not bid my wife, for such a guest
In such a plight, prepare the little room
We still call'd “Emma's” from my sister's name.
Then with a sudden mustering up of wits,
And ev'n a touch of his old self, that quick
Melted my heart anew, he signified
His bed was waiting, he would say good-night,
And begged me not to stir, he knew his road.
But arm in arm I brought him up the street,
Among the rain-pools, and the pattering drops
Drumming upon our canopy; where few
Or none were out of door; and once or twice
Some casement from an upper story shed
Penurious lamplight.
A lodging near us; for, to say the truth,
34
In such a plight, prepare the little room
We still call'd “Emma's” from my sister's name.
Then with a sudden mustering up of wits,
And ev'n a touch of his old self, that quick
Melted my heart anew, he signified
His bed was waiting, he would say good-night,
And begged me not to stir, he knew his road.
But arm in arm I brought him up the street,
Among the rain-pools, and the pattering drops
Drumming upon our canopy; where few
Or none were out of door; and once or twice
Some casement from an upper story shed
Penurious lamplight.
Tediously we kept
The morning meal in vain expectancy.
Our box of clothes came back; the people said
He paid without a word, and went his way,
They knew not whither. He returned no more.
He now is dead.
The morning meal in vain expectancy.
Our box of clothes came back; the people said
He paid without a word, and went his way,
They knew not whither. He returned no more.
He now is dead.
Through all the summer-time
The touch of that unhappy visit lay,
Like trace of frost on gardens, on our life.
Great cities give events to every hour;
Not so that ancient village, small, remote,
Half-hid in boscage of a peaceful vale,
With guardian hills, but welcoming the sun,
And every group of seasonable stars
That rise upon the circle of the year;
Open to natural influences, far
From jostling crowds of congregated men.
The touch of that unhappy visit lay,
Like trace of frost on gardens, on our life.
Great cities give events to every hour;
Not so that ancient village, small, remote,
Half-hid in boscage of a peaceful vale,
With guardian hills, but welcoming the sun,
And every group of seasonable stars
That rise upon the circle of the year;
Open to natural influences, far
From jostling crowds of congregated men.
That village also lies behind us now;
Midst other fields abide we, other faces.
Annie, my darling, we were happy there,
And Heaven continues happiness and hope
To us and to our children. May their steps
Keep the good pathway through this perilous world.
That village is far-off, that year is fled.
But still, at many a meditative hour
By day or night, or with memorial flash,
I see the phantom of our boy Saint George,
A shifting ghost,—now with his bright young face
And merry curls; now haggard and forlorn,
As when the candles came into the room.
Midst other fields abide we, other faces.
Annie, my darling, we were happy there,
And Heaven continues happiness and hope
To us and to our children. May their steps
Keep the good pathway through this perilous world.
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But still, at many a meditative hour
By day or night, or with memorial flash,
I see the phantom of our boy Saint George,
A shifting ghost,—now with his bright young face
And merry curls; now haggard and forlorn,
As when the candles came into the room.
| Life and Phantasy | |