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XVII. | XVII INTERLUDE |
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Poems | ||
XVII
INTERLUDE
O, the fun, the fun and frolic
That The Wind that Shakes the Barley
Scatters through a penny-whistle
Tickled with artistic fingers!
That The Wind that Shakes the Barley
Scatters through a penny-whistle
Tickled with artistic fingers!
Kate the scrubber (forty summers,
Stout but sportive) treads a measure,
Grinning, in herself a ballet,
Fixed as fate upon her audience.
Stout but sportive) treads a measure,
Grinning, in herself a ballet,
Fixed as fate upon her audience.
17
Stumps are shaking, crutch-supported;
Splinted fingers tap the rhythm;
And a head all helmed with plasters
Wags a measured approbation.
Splinted fingers tap the rhythm;
And a head all helmed with plasters
Wags a measured approbation.
Of their mattress-life oblivious,
All the patients, brisk and cheerful,
Are encouraging the dancer,
And applauding the musician.
All the patients, brisk and cheerful,
Are encouraging the dancer,
And applauding the musician.
Dim the gas-lights in the output
Of so many ardent smokers,
Full of shadow lurch the corners,
And the doctor peeps and passes.
Of so many ardent smokers,
Full of shadow lurch the corners,
And the doctor peeps and passes.
There are, maybe, some suspicions
Of an alcoholic presence . . .
‘Tak' a sup of this, my wumman!’ . . .
New Year comes but once a twelve-month.
Of an alcoholic presence . . .
‘Tak' a sup of this, my wumman!’ . . .
New Year comes but once a twelve-month.
Poems | ||