 | Verse in bloom |  |
27
THE PUBLISHER
There came a merry publisher
To publish in the pears,
Without a biting thought of gold,
His well-selected wares.
From tall and budded premises
He meant with easy skill
To advertise his book of song
As far as Ladslove Hill.
Cuckoo!
To publish in the pears,
Without a biting thought of gold,
His well-selected wares.
From tall and budded premises
He meant with easy skill
To advertise his book of song
As far as Ladslove Hill.
Cuckoo!
The shop was full of blossoming
Convenience for his wares,
With May's entrancing pigeon-holes
And several flights of stairs.
A house of business never looked
So fresh and cool and clean
Beneath its coat of vivid white
With shadowings of green.
Cuckoo!
Convenience for his wares,
With May's entrancing pigeon-holes
And several flights of stairs.
A house of business never looked
So fresh and cool and clean
Beneath its coat of vivid white
With shadowings of green.
Cuckoo!
When Beauty drummed upon my pane,
As only Beauty dares,
She told me how the publisher
Was vaunting local wares.
We ran together in delight
Toward the fragrant shop,
And ere we reached its open door
We heard a volume drop.
Cuckoo!
As only Beauty dares,
28
Was vaunting local wares.
We ran together in delight
Toward the fragrant shop,
And ere we reached its open door
We heard a volume drop.
Cuckoo!
I glanced at Beauty. In her eyes,
Which blueness ever shares
With grey half-willing to be blue,
She worshipped place and wares.
At once there frolicked in my heart
A fancy meet to tell
Her whispering breast; when suddenly
Another volume fell.
Cuckoo!
Which blueness ever shares
With grey half-willing to be blue,
She worshipped place and wares.
At once there frolicked in my heart
A fancy meet to tell
Her whispering breast; when suddenly
Another volume fell.
Cuckoo!
Perhaps the publisher alone
Could not have killed my cares
By dropping in the orchard grass
Two samples of his wares;
But when my Love was pleased to add
Her catalogue of grace,
What happy springs of boyish blood
Gushed hotly to my face!
Cuckoo!
Could not have killed my cares
By dropping in the orchard grass
Two samples of his wares;
But when my Love was pleased to add
Her catalogue of grace,
What happy springs of boyish blood
Gushed hotly to my face!
Cuckoo!
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