London lyrics by Frederick Locker Lampson: With introduction and notes by Austin Dobson |
 |
A HUMAN SKULL |
 | London lyrics |  |
6
A HUMAN SKULL
A human Skull! I bought it passing cheap,
No doubt 'twas dearer to its first employer!
I thought mortality did well to keep
Some mute memento of the Old Destroyer.
No doubt 'twas dearer to its first employer!
I thought mortality did well to keep
Some mute memento of the Old Destroyer.
Time was, some may have prized its blooming skin;
Here lips were woo'd, perhaps, in transport tender;
Some may have chuck'd what was a dimpled chin,
And never had my doubt about its gender.
Here lips were woo'd, perhaps, in transport tender;
Some may have chuck'd what was a dimpled chin,
And never had my doubt about its gender.
Did She live yesterday or ages back?
What colour were the eyes when bright and waking?
And were your ringlets fair, or brown, or black,
Poor little Head! that long has done with aching?
What colour were the eyes when bright and waking?
And were your ringlets fair, or brown, or black,
Poor little Head! that long has done with aching?
7
It may have held (to shoot some random shots)
Thy brains, Eliza Fry! or Baron Byron's;
The wits of Nelly Gwynne, or Doctor Watts,—
Two quoted bards. Two philanthropic sirens.
Thy brains, Eliza Fry! or Baron Byron's;
The wits of Nelly Gwynne, or Doctor Watts,—
Two quoted bards. Two philanthropic sirens.
But this I trust is clearly understood;
If man or woman,—if adored or hated—
Whoever own'd this Skull was not so good,
Nor quite so bad as many may have stated.
If man or woman,—if adored or hated—
Whoever own'd this Skull was not so good,
Nor quite so bad as many may have stated.
Who love can need no special type of Death;
He bares his awful face too soon, too often;
Immortelles bloom in Beauty's bridal wreath,
And does not yon green elm contain a coffin?
He bares his awful face too soon, too often;
Immortelles bloom in Beauty's bridal wreath,
And does not yon green elm contain a coffin?
O True-Love mine, what lines of care are these?
The heart still lingers with its golden hours,
But fading tints are on the chestnut-trees,
And where is all that lavish wealth of flowers?
The heart still lingers with its golden hours,
But fading tints are on the chestnut-trees,
And where is all that lavish wealth of flowers?
8
The end is near. Life lacks what once it gave,
Yet Death hath promises that call for praises;
A very worthless rogue may dig the grave,
But Hands unseen will dress the turf with daisies.
Yet Death hath promises that call for praises;
A very worthless rogue may dig the grave,
But Hands unseen will dress the turf with daisies.
1860.
| London lyrics | |