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267
APPENDIX
ECHOES
[In the time of snows]
In the time of snows
A thought that glows
And a hope that follows fearless.
In the time of buds
Two beating bloods
And an impulse blind and careless.
A thought that glows
And a hope that follows fearless.
In the time of buds
Two beating bloods
And an impulse blind and careless.
In the time of leaves
A heart that heaves
And a heart that dreads the morrow.
In the time of fruit
A wandering foot
And afar a lonely sorrow.
A heart that heaves
And a heart that dreads the morrow.
In the time of fruit
A wandering foot
And afar a lonely sorrow.
This is the use
Of them that loose
Their sail to the wind of pleasure:
The year outrun,
The dream undone,
And the long, regretful leisure.
Of them that loose
Their sail to the wind of pleasure:
The year outrun,
The dream undone,
And the long, regretful leisure.
1875.
[The pretty washermaiden]
The pretty washermaiden,
She washes on always!
And as she rubs, and as she wrings,
Her shapely body sways and springs
As if to burst her stays.
She washes on always!
And as she rubs, and as she wrings,
Her shapely body sways and springs
As if to burst her stays.
270
Her cheek is rich and shining
And brown as any egg,
And, when she dives into her tub
To duck the linen she 's to scrub,
She shows the neatest leg!
And brown as any egg,
And, when she dives into her tub
To duck the linen she 's to scrub,
She shows the neatest leg!
Her round arms white with lather,
Her elbows fresh and red,
Her mouth the rosiest of buds,
Who would not risk a shower of suds
To kiss her dainty head?
Her elbows fresh and red,
Her mouth the rosiest of buds,
Who would not risk a shower of suds
To kiss her dainty head?
1876.
BRIC-À-BRAC
OF THE FROWARDNESS OF WOMAN
To E. S.
All the idols are overthrowing,
Man the end of his reign descries.
Maids are clamouring, wives are crowing,
Widows thrill with a wild surmise.
Those one follows and those one flies,
The loth to be won, and the willing to woo,
Look at the world with longing eyes.
Nothing is left for the men to do.
Man the end of his reign descries.
Maids are clamouring, wives are crowing,
Widows thrill with a wild surmise.
Those one follows and those one flies,
The loth to be won, and the willing to woo,
Look at the world with longing eyes.
Nothing is left for the men to do.
Pulpit and platform overflowing,
Ready the scheme of things to revise,
See them—eager, militant, knowing—
Write, plead, wrangle, philologise,
Answer papers, and vote supplies,
Wield a racquet, handle a cue,
Paint, fight, legislate, theorise.
Nothing is left for the men to do.
Ready the scheme of things to revise,
See them—eager, militant, knowing—
Write, plead, wrangle, philologise,
Answer papers, and vote supplies,
Wield a racquet, handle a cue,
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Nothing is left for the men to do.
Cora 's riding and Lilian 's rowing,
Celia's novels are books one buys,
Julia 's lecturing, Phyllis is mowing,
Sue is a dealer in oils and dyes,
Flora and Dora poetise,
Jane 's a bore and Bee is a blue,
Sylvia lives to anatomise.
Nothing is left for the men to do.
Celia's novels are books one buys,
Julia 's lecturing, Phyllis is mowing,
Sue is a dealer in oils and dyes,
Flora and Dora poetise,
Jane 's a bore and Bee is a blue,
Sylvia lives to anatomise.
Nothing is left for the men to do.
Envoy
Prince, our past on the dust-heap lies!Saving to scrub, to bake, to brew,
Nurse, dress, prattle, and scandalise,
Nothing is left for the men to do.
OF RAIN
To H. W.
A sombre, sagging sky
Of tossed and tumbled wrack
And ragged clouds, that lie
To meet the wind's attack,
Or march in columns black
And serried; then a still,
A feverish kind of thrill;
And whispering in the leaves,
And pattering on the pane,
It falls in very sheaves,
The weary, dreary rain.
Of tossed and tumbled wrack
And ragged clouds, that lie
To meet the wind's attack,
Or march in columns black
And serried; then a still,
A feverish kind of thrill;
And whispering in the leaves,
And pattering on the pane,
It falls in very sheaves,
The weary, dreary rain.
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The summer seems to sigh
As she were flouted back.
The grasses rot and die,
The corn begins to crack.
The flowers would like to pack,
It 's all so dank and chill,
Discomfortable and shrill:
While, flickering from the eaves
And gurgling down the drain,
The sodden world receives
The weary, dreary rain.
As she were flouted back.
The grasses rot and die,
The corn begins to crack.
The flowers would like to pack,
It 's all so dank and chill,
Discomfortable and shrill:
While, flickering from the eaves
And gurgling down the drain,
The sodden world receives
The weary, dreary rain.
The big trees, broad and high,
Grow thick and blurred and slack.
The birds, too dull to fly,
Brood dismal, and the track
Shines. If a sudden quack
Sound from the ducks that swill,
The damp hush takes it ill.
But ever and on it weaves
Its rhythms with might and main,
And all its will achieves,
The weary, dreary rain.
Grow thick and blurred and slack.
The birds, too dull to fly,
Brood dismal, and the track
Shines. If a sudden quack
Sound from the ducks that swill,
The damp hush takes it ill.
But ever and on it weaves
Its rhythms with might and main,
And all its will achieves,
The weary, dreary rain.
Envoy
It lapses not: it cleavesA way to heart and brain;
It dins, it duns, it deaves,
It worries and wastes and grieves,
The weary, dreary rain.
273
OF ANTIQUE DANCES
To A. D.
Before the town had lost its wits,
And scared the bravery from its beaux,
When money-grubs were merely cits,
And verse was crisp and clear as prose,
Ere Chloë and Strephon came to blows
For votes, degrees, and cigarettes,
The world rejoiced to point its toes
In Gigues, Gavottes, and Minuets.
And scared the bravery from its beaux,
When money-grubs were merely cits,
And verse was crisp and clear as prose,
Ere Chloë and Strephon came to blows
For votes, degrees, and cigarettes,
The world rejoiced to point its toes
In Gigues, Gavottes, and Minuets.
The solemn fiddlers touch their kits;
The tinkling clavichord o'erflows
With contrapuntal quirks and hits;
And, with all measure and repose,
Through figures grave as royal shows,
With noble airs and pirouettes,
They move, to rhythms Handel knows,
In Gigues, Gavottes, and Minuets.
The tinkling clavichord o'erflows
With contrapuntal quirks and hits;
And, with all measure and repose,
Through figures grave as royal shows,
With noble airs and pirouettes,
They move, to rhythms Handel knows,
In Gigues, Gavottes, and Minuets.
O Fans and Swords, O Sacques and Mits,
That was the better part you chose!
You know not how those gamesome chits,
Waltz, Polka, and Schottische, arose,
Nor how Quadrille—a kind of doze
In time and tune—the dance besets;
You aired your fashion to the close
In Gigues, Gavottes, and Minuets.
That was the better part you chose!
You know not how those gamesome chits,
Waltz, Polka, and Schottische, arose,
Nor how Quadrille—a kind of doze
In time and tune—the dance besets;
You aired your fashion to the close
In Gigues, Gavottes, and Minuets.
Envoy
Muse of the many-twinkling hose,Terpsichore, O teach your pets
274
In Gigues, Gavottes, and Minuets.
OF SPRING MUSIC
To W. H. P.
Sounds of waking, sounds of growing
Seem the living air to fill.
Hark! the echoes are yeo-hoing
Valiantly from vale and hill!
Nature's voices, moving still
In a larger, lustier swing,
Work together with a will.
'Tis the symphony of Spring!
Seem the living air to fill.
Hark! the echoes are yeo-hoing
Valiantly from vale and hill!
Nature's voices, moving still
In a larger, lustier swing,
Work together with a will.
'Tis the symphony of Spring!
Showers are singing, clouds are flowing,
Ocean thunders, croons the rill.
Hark! the West his clarion 's blowing!
Hark! the thrush is fluting shrill,
And the blackbird tries his trill,
And the skylark soars to sing!
Even the sparrow tunes his quill.
'Tis the symphony of Spring!
Ocean thunders, croons the rill.
Hark! the West his clarion 's blowing!
Hark! the thrush is fluting shrill,
And the blackbird tries his trill,
And the skylark soars to sing!
Even the sparrow tunes his quill.
'Tis the symphony of Spring!
Lambs are bleating, steers are lowing,
Brisk and rhythmic clacks the mill.
Kapellmeister April, glowing
And superb with glee and skill,
Comes, his orchestra to drill
In a music that will ring
Till the gray world yearn and thrill:
'Tis the symphony of Spring!
Brisk and rhythmic clacks the mill.
Kapellmeister April, glowing
And superb with glee and skill,
Comes, his orchestra to drill
In a music that will ring
Till the gray world yearn and thrill:
'Tis the symphony of Spring!
275
Envoy
Princes, though your blood be chill,Here 's shall make you leap and fling.
Fling and leap like Jack and Jill!
'Tis the symphony of Spring.
OF JUNE
To W. W.
Lilacs glow, and jasmines climb,
Larks are loud the livelong day.
O the golden summer-prime!
June takes up the sceptre of May,
And the land beneath her sway
Blooms, a dream of blossoming closes,
And the very wind 's at play
With Sir Love among the roses.
Larks are loud the livelong day.
O the golden summer-prime!
June takes up the sceptre of May,
And the land beneath her sway
Blooms, a dream of blossoming closes,
And the very wind 's at play
With Sir Love among the roses.
Lights and shadows in the lime
Meet in exquisite disarray.
Hark! the rich recurrent rhyme
Of the blackbird's roundelay!
Where he carols frank and gay
Fancy no more glooms nor proses:
Joyously she trips away
With Sir Love among the roses.
Meet in exquisite disarray.
Hark! the rich recurrent rhyme
Of the blackbird's roundelay!
Where he carols frank and gay
Fancy no more glooms nor proses:
Joyously she trips away
With Sir Love among the roses.
O the cool sea's slumbrous chime!
O the links that beach the bay
Paven with meadow-sweet and thyme
Where the brown bees murmur and stray;
Lush the hedgerows, ripe the hay,
Many a maiden, binding posies,
Finds herself at Yea-and-Nay
With Sir Love among the roses.
O the links that beach the bay
Paven with meadow-sweet and thyme
Where the brown bees murmur and stray;
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Many a maiden, binding posies,
Finds herself at Yea-and-Nay
With Sir Love among the roses.
Envoy
Boys and girls, be wise, I pray:Do as dear Queen June proposes,
For she bids you troop and stay
With Sir Love among the roses.
OF LADIES' NAMES
To A. L.
Brown is for Lalage, Jones for Lelia,
Robinson's bosom for Beatrice glows,
Smith is a Hamlet before Ophelia.
The glamour stays if the reason goes:
Every lover the years disclose
Is of a beautiful name made free.
One befriends, and all others are foes:
Anna 's the name of names for me.
Robinson's bosom for Beatrice glows,
Smith is a Hamlet before Ophelia.
The glamour stays if the reason goes:
Every lover the years disclose
Is of a beautiful name made free.
One befriends, and all others are foes:
Anna 's the name of names for me.
Sentiment hallows the vowels of Delia;
Sweet simplicity breathes from Rose!
Courtly memories glitter in Celia;
Rosalind savours of quips and hose,
Araminta of wits and beaux,
Prue of puddings, and Coralie
All of sawdust and spangled shows:
Anna 's the name of names for me.
Sweet simplicity breathes from Rose!
Courtly memories glitter in Celia;
Rosalind savours of quips and hose,
Araminta of wits and beaux,
Prue of puddings, and Coralie
All of sawdust and spangled shows:
Anna 's the name of names for me.
277
Fie upon Caroline, Jane, Amelia—
These I reckon the essence of prose!—
Mystical Magdalen, cold Cornelia,
Adelaide's attitudes, Mopsa's mowes,
Maud's magnificence, Totty's toes,
Poll and Bet with their twang of the sea,
Nell's impertinence, Pamela's woes!
Anna 's the name of names for me.
These I reckon the essence of prose!—
Mystical Magdalen, cold Cornelia,
Adelaide's attitudes, Mopsa's mowes,
Maud's magnificence, Totty's toes,
Poll and Bet with their twang of the sea,
Nell's impertinence, Pamela's woes!
Anna 's the name of names for me.
Envoy
Ruth like a gillyflower smells and blows,Sylvia prattles of Arcady,
Portia 's only a Roman nose,
Anna 's the name of names for me.
[In the street of By-and-By]
‘Por la calle de Despues se acabe à la casa de Nunca’
In the street of By-and-By
Stands the hostelry of Never.
Dream from deed he must dissever
Who his fortune here would try.
Stands the hostelry of Never.
Dream from deed he must dissever
Who his fortune here would try.
There 's a pathos in the cry,
As of impotent endeavour:
In the street of By-and-By
Stands the hostelry of Never.
As of impotent endeavour:
In the street of By-and-By
Stands the hostelry of Never.
Grave or gamesome, low or high,
Dull or dainty, crass or clever,
You must lose your chance for ever,
If you let it forth to fly
In the street of By-and-By.
Dull or dainty, crass or clever,
You must lose your chance for ever,
If you let it forth to fly
In the street of By-and-By.
278
[‘Felicity. Enquire within.]
‘Hic habitat Felicitas’
‘Felicity. Enquire within.
Truly the goddess is at home!’
So read, so thought, the rakes of Rome,
Some frail one's lintel fain to win.
Truly the goddess is at home!’
So read, so thought, the rakes of Rome,
Some frail one's lintel fain to win.
And now it blares thro' bronze and tin,
Thro' clarion, organ, catcall, comb:
‘Felicity. Enquire within.
Truly the goddess is at home!’
Thro' clarion, organ, catcall, comb:
‘Felicity. Enquire within.
Truly the goddess is at home!’
For, tent or studio, bank or bin,
Platonic porch, Petræan dome,
Where'er our hobbies champ and foam,
Thereo'er the brave old sign we pin:
‘Felicity. Enquire within.’
Platonic porch, Petræan dome,
Where'er our hobbies champ and foam,
Thereo'er the brave old sign we pin:
‘Felicity. Enquire within.’
[We 'll to the woods and gather may]
‘Allons au bois le may cueillir’
—Charles d'Orléans.
—Charles d'Orléans.
We 'll to the woods and gather may
Fresh from the footprints of the rain.
We 'll to the woods, at every vein
To drink the spirit of the day.
Fresh from the footprints of the rain.
We 'll to the woods, at every vein
To drink the spirit of the day.
The winds of spring are out at play,
The needs of spring in heart and brain.
We 'll to the woods and gather may
Fresh from the footprints of the rain.
The needs of spring in heart and brain.
We 'll to the woods and gather may
Fresh from the footprints of the rain.
The world 's too near her end, you say?
Hark to the blackbird's mad refrain!
It waits for her, the vast Inane?
Then, girls, to help her on the way
We 'll to the woods and gather may.
Hark to the blackbird's mad refrain!
It waits for her, the vast Inane?
Then, girls, to help her on the way
We 'll to the woods and gather may.
279
FORENOON
Soft as the whisper shut within a shell,The far sea rustles white along the sand,
A tiny breeze, blown wanton from the land,
Teases it into dimples visible;
A dream of blue, the Fife hills sink and swell;
The large light quivers, and from strand to strand
A vast content seems breathing to expand;
And the deep heaven smiles down a sleepy spell.
Dark bathers bob; the girders of the pier
Stand softened forth against the quiet blue;
Dogs bark; the wading children take their pleasure;
A horse comes charging round, and I can hear
The gallop's wild waltz-rhythm, falling thro',
Change to the trot's deliberate polka-measure.
RAIN
The sky sags low with convoluted cloud,Heavy and imminent, rolled from rim to rim.
A bank of fog blots out of sight the brim
Of the leaden sea, all spiritless and cowed.
The rain is falling sheer and strong and loud,
The strand is desolate, the distance grim
With threats of storm, the wet stones glimmer dim,
And to the wall the dank umbrellas crowd.
280
Black chimney-shadows streak the shiny slates,
The eaves are strung with drops, and steeped the grasses,
A draggled fishwife screeches at the gates,
The baker hurries dripping on, and hooded
In her wet prints a pretty housemaid passes.
JENNY WREN
Miss Wren is O so wee, so wee!So light, so light! So neat, so neat!
Her waist is trig as waist can be.
She has the funniest little feet,
The prettiest hands, the sauciest nose,
The blackest eyes, the reddest lips!
She comes, she looks, she laughs, she goes,
With petulant little turns and dips.
Her little self she perks and plumes.
She chirps and twitters, chirps and cheeps
As though among wet apple-blooms,
With sudden, sidelong, little leaps,
She flits, she flies! Was never seen
A daintier little cutty-quean.
[My love to me is always kind]
My love to me is always kind:
She neither storms, nor is she pined;
She does not plead with tears or sighs,
But gentle words and soft replies—
Good earnest of the thought behind.
They say the little god is blind,
They do not count him quite too wise;
Yet he, somehow, could bring and bind
My love to me.
She neither storms, nor is she pined;
She does not plead with tears or sighs,
But gentle words and soft replies—
Good earnest of the thought behind.
281
They do not count him quite too wise;
Yet he, somehow, could bring and bind
My love to me.
And sweetest nut hath sourest rind?
It may be so; but she I prize
Is even lovelier in mine eyes
Than good and gracious to my mind.
I bless the fortune that consigned
My love to me.
It may be so; but she I prize
Is even lovelier in mine eyes
Than good and gracious to my mind.
I bless the fortune that consigned
My love to me.
[With strawberries we filled a tray]
With strawberries we filled a tray,
And then we drove away, away
Along the links beside the sea,
Where wave and wind were light and free,
And August felt as fresh as May.
And then we drove away, away
Along the links beside the sea,
Where wave and wind were light and free,
And August felt as fresh as May.
And where the springy turf was gay
With thyme and balm and many a spray
Of wild roses, you tempted me
With strawberries.
With thyme and balm and many a spray
Of wild roses, you tempted me
With strawberries.
A shadowy sail, silent and gray,
Stole like a ghost across the bay;
But none could hear me ask my fee,
And none could know what came to be.
Can sweethearts all their thirst allay
With strawberries?
Stole like a ghost across the bay;
But none could hear me ask my fee,
And none could know what came to be.
Can sweethearts all their thirst allay
With strawberries?
[The leaves are sere, and on the ground]
The leaves are sere, and on the ground
They rustle with an eerie sound,
A sound half-whisper and half-sigh—
The plaint of sweet things fain to die,
Sad things for which no ruth is found.
They rustle with an eerie sound,
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The plaint of sweet things fain to die,
Sad things for which no ruth is found.
With summer once the land was crowned;
But now that autumn scatters round
Decay, and summer fancies die,
The leaves are sere.
But now that autumn scatters round
Decay, and summer fancies die,
The leaves are sere.
Once, too, my thought within the bound
Of summer frolicked, like a hound
In meadows jocund with July.
Yet now I sit and wonder why,
With all my waste of penny and pound,
The leaves are sere.
Of summer frolicked, like a hound
In meadows jocund with July.
Yet now I sit and wonder why,
With all my waste of penny and pound,
The leaves are sere.
To H. D. C.
If I were king my pipe should be premier.
The skies of time and chance are seldom clear;
We would inform them all with azure weather.
Delight alone would need to shed a tear,
For dream and deed should war no more together.
The skies of time and chance are seldom clear;
We would inform them all with azure weather.
Delight alone would need to shed a tear,
For dream and deed should war no more together.
Art should aspire, yet ugliness be dear;
Beauty, the shaft, should speed with wit for feather;
And love, sweet love, should never fall to sere
If I were king.
Beauty, the shaft, should speed with wit for feather;
And love, sweet love, should never fall to sere
If I were king.
But politics should find no harbour near;
The Philistine should dread to slip his tether;
Tobacco should be duty free, and beer;
In fact, in room of this the age of leather,
An age of gold all radiant should appear
If I were king.
The Philistine should dread to slip his tether;
Tobacco should be duty free, and beer;
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An age of gold all radiant should appear
If I were king.
INTER SODALES
Over a pipe the Angel of Conversation
Loosens with glee the tassels of his purse,
And, in a fine spiritual exaltation,
Hastens, a very spendthrift, to disburse
The coins new minted of imagination.
Loosens with glee the tassels of his purse,
And, in a fine spiritual exaltation,
Hastens, a very spendthrift, to disburse
The coins new minted of imagination.
An amiable, a delicate animation
Informs our thought, and earnest we rehearse
The sweet old farce of mutual admiration
Over a pipe.
Informs our thought, and earnest we rehearse
The sweet old farce of mutual admiration
Over a pipe.
Heard in this hour's delicious divagation,
How soft the song! the epigram how terse!
With what a genius for administration
We rearrange the rambling universe,
And map the course of man's regeneration,
Over a pipe!
How soft the song! the epigram how terse!
With what a genius for administration
We rearrange the rambling universe,
And map the course of man's regeneration,
Over a pipe!
1875.
MY MEERSCHAUM PIPE
My Meerschaum Pipe is exquisitely dipped!
Shining, and silver-zoned, and amber-tipped,
In close chromatic passages that number
The tones of brown from cinnamon to umber,
Roll the rich harmonies of shank and crypt.
Shining, and silver-zoned, and amber-tipped,
In close chromatic passages that number
The tones of brown from cinnamon to umber,
Roll the rich harmonies of shank and crypt.
284
Couchant, and of its purple cushions clipped,
Its dusky loveliness I wake from slumber.
Was ever maid than thou more softly lipped,
My Meerschaum Pipe?
Its dusky loveliness I wake from slumber.
Was ever maid than thou more softly lipped,
My Meerschaum Pipe?
How many pangs herethro' have lightly tripped
Into the past, that wharf of aery lumber?
How many plans, bright-armed and all equipt,
Out of this glowing brain have skyward skipped?
Memories that hallow, O regrets that cumber
My Meerschaum Pipe!
Into the past, that wharf of aery lumber?
How many plans, bright-armed and all equipt,
Out of this glowing brain have skyward skipped?
Memories that hallow, O regrets that cumber
My Meerschaum Pipe!
1875.
PIPE OF MY SOUL
Pipe of my soul, our perfumed reverie,
A mild-eyed and mysterious ecstasy,
In purple whorls and delicate spires ascending
Like hope materialised, inquiringly
Towards the unknown Infinite is wending.
A mild-eyed and mysterious ecstasy,
In purple whorls and delicate spires ascending
Like hope materialised, inquiringly
Towards the unknown Infinite is wending.
The master secret of mortality,
The viewless line this visible life subtending,
Whilom so dim, grows almost plain to me,
Pipe of my Soul!
The viewless line this visible life subtending,
Whilom so dim, grows almost plain to me,
Pipe of my Soul!
And as the angels come, the demons flee.
Thine artist influence beautifully blending
The light that is, the dark that may not be,
The great Perhaps above all things impending
Melts large and luminous into thine and thee,
Pipe of my Soul!
Thine artist influence beautifully blending
The light that is, the dark that may not be,
The great Perhaps above all things impending
Melts large and luminous into thine and thee,
Pipe of my Soul!
1877.
285
A FLIRTED FAN
A flirted fan of blade and gold
Is wondrous winsome to behold:
It seems an armoured shard to bear
The Emperor-Scarab—strange and rare,
Metallic, lustrous, jewel-cold.
Fawning and fluttering fold on fold
And scale on scale, its charm unrolled,
Lures, dazzles, slays. It thrills the air,
A flirted fan!
Is wondrous winsome to behold:
It seems an armoured shard to bear
The Emperor-Scarab—strange and rare,
Metallic, lustrous, jewel-cold.
Fawning and fluttering fold on fold
And scale on scale, its charm unrolled,
Lures, dazzles, slays. It thrills the air,
A flirted fan!
Ah me, that night . . . I cannot scold—
Ich grolle nicht! My grief untold
Shall still remain, but I will swear
Some Spanish grace, dissembled there
Stood by her stall, she so controlled
A flirted fan.
Ich grolle nicht! My grief untold
Shall still remain, but I will swear
Some Spanish grace, dissembled there
Stood by her stall, she so controlled
A flirted fan.
IN ROTTEN ROW
In Rotten Row a cigarette
I sat and smoked, with no regret
For all the tumult that had been.
The distances were still and green,
And streaked with shadows cool and wet.
I sat and smoked, with no regret
For all the tumult that had been.
The distances were still and green,
And streaked with shadows cool and wet.
Two sweethearts on a bench were set,
Two birds among the boughs were met;
So love and song were heard and seen
In Rotten Row.
Two birds among the boughs were met;
So love and song were heard and seen
In Rotten Row.
286
A horse or two there was to fret
The soundless sand; but work and debt,
Fair flowers and falling leaves between,
While clocks are chiming clear and keen,
A man may very well forget
In Rotten Row.
The soundless sand; but work and debt,
Fair flowers and falling leaves between,
While clocks are chiming clear and keen,
A man may very well forget
In Rotten Row.
WITH A FAN FROM RIMMEL'S
Go, happy Fan, in all the land
The happiest . . . seek my lady's hand,
And, swinging at her winsome waist,
Forget for aye, so greatly graced,
The House of Odours in the Strand.
The happiest . . . seek my lady's hand,
And, swinging at her winsome waist,
Forget for aye, so greatly graced,
The House of Odours in the Strand.
Ivory, with lilac silk outspanned,
With ruffling black sedately grand,
With bloom of eglantine o'ertraced,
Go, happy Fan.
With ruffling black sedately grand,
With bloom of eglantine o'ertraced,
Go, happy Fan.
Her kindly heart will understand,
Her gentle eyes will grow more bland
At sight of you. Away in haste,
Dear New Year's gift! Such perfect taste
As yours her praises may command. . . .
Go, happy Fan!
Her gentle eyes will grow more bland
At sight of you. Away in haste,
Dear New Year's gift! Such perfect taste
As yours her praises may command. . . .
Go, happy Fan!
VILLANELLE
[Where 's the use of sighing?]
Where 's the use of sighing?
Sorrow as you may,
Time is always flying—
Sorrow as you may,
Time is always flying—
287
Flying!—and defying
Men to say him nay . . .
Where 's the use of sighing?
Men to say him nay . . .
Where 's the use of sighing?
Look! To-day is dying
After yesterday.
Time is always flying.
After yesterday.
Time is always flying.
Flying—and when crying
Cannot make him stay,
Where 's the use of sighing?
Cannot make him stay,
Where 's the use of sighing?
Men with by-and-bying,
Fritter life away.
Time is always flying,
Fritter life away.
Time is always flying,
Flying!—O, from prying
Cease, and go to play.
Where 's the use of sighing,
‘Time is always flying?’
Cease, and go to play.
Where 's the use of sighing,
‘Time is always flying?’
VILLANELLE
[A dainty thing 's the Villanelle]
A dainty thing 's the Villanelle
Sly, musical, a jewel in rhyme,
It serves its purpose passing well.
Sly, musical, a jewel in rhyme,
It serves its purpose passing well.
A double-clappered silver bell
That must be made to clink in chime,
A dainty thing 's the Villanelle;
That must be made to clink in chime,
A dainty thing 's the Villanelle;
And if you wish to flute a spell,
Or ask a meeting 'neath the lime,
It serves its purpose passing well.
Or ask a meeting 'neath the lime,
It serves its purpose passing well.
288
You must not ask of it the swell
Of organs grandiose and sublime—
A dainty thing 's the Villanelle;
Of organs grandiose and sublime—
A dainty thing 's the Villanelle;
And, filled with sweetness, as a shell
Is filled with sound, and launched in time,
It serves its purpose passing well.
Is filled with sound, and launched in time,
It serves its purpose passing well.
Still fair to see and good to smell
As in the quaintness of its prime,
A dainty thing 's the Villanelle,
It serves its purpose passing well.
As in the quaintness of its prime,
A dainty thing 's the Villanelle,
It serves its purpose passing well.
VILLANELLE
[In the clatter of the train]
In the clatter of the train
Is a promise brisk and bright.
I shall see my love again!
Is a promise brisk and bright.
I shall see my love again!
I am tired and fagged and fain;
But I feel a still delight
In the clatter of the train,
But I feel a still delight
In the clatter of the train,
Hurry-hurrying on amain
Through the moonshine thin and white—
I shall see my love again!
Through the moonshine thin and white—
I shall see my love again!
Many noisy miles remain;
But a sympathetic sprite
In the clatter of the train
But a sympathetic sprite
In the clatter of the train
Hammers cheerful:—that the strain
Once concluded and the fight,
I shall see my love again.
Once concluded and the fight,
I shall see my love again.
289
Yes, the overword is plain,—
If it 's trivial, if it 's trite—
In the clatter of the train:
‘I shall see my love again.’
If it 's trivial, if it 's trite—
In the clatter of the train:
‘I shall see my love again.’
VILLON'S STRAIGHT TIP TO ALL CROSS COVES
‘Tout aux tavernes et aux filles.’
Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack?
Or fake the broads? or fig a nag?
Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack?
Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag?
Suppose you duff? or nose and lag?
Or get the straight, and land your pot?
How do you melt the multy swag?
Booze and the blowens cop the lot.
Or fake the broads? or fig a nag?
Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack?
Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag?
Suppose you duff? or nose and lag?
Or get the straight, and land your pot?
How do you melt the multy swag?
Booze and the blowens cop the lot.
Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack;
Or moskeneer, or flash the drag;
Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack;
Pad with a slang, or chuck a fag;
Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag;
Rattle the tats, or mark the spot;
You can not bank a single stag;
Booze and the blowens cop the lot.
Or moskeneer, or flash the drag;
Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack;
Pad with a slang, or chuck a fag;
Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag;
Rattle the tats, or mark the spot;
You can not bank a single stag;
Booze and the blowens cop the lot.
Suppose you try a different tack,
And on the square you flash your flag?
At penny-a-lining make your whack,
Or with the mummers mug and gag?
For nix, for nix the dibbs you bag!
At any graft, no matter what,
Your merry goblins soon stravag:
Booze and the blowens cop the lot.
And on the square you flash your flag?
At penny-a-lining make your whack,
Or with the mummers mug and gag?
290
At any graft, no matter what,
Your merry goblins soon stravag:
Booze and the blowens cop the lot.
THE MORAL
It 's up the spout and Charley WagWith wipes and tickers and what not.
Until the squeezer nips your scrag,
Booze and the blowens cop the lot.
| Poems | |