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London lyrics

by Frederick Locker Lampson: With introduction and notes by Austin Dobson

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A NICE CORRESPONDENT
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


78

A NICE CORRESPONDENT

“There are plenty of roses” (the patriarch speaks)
“Alas not for me, on your lips and your cheeks;
Fair maiden rose-laden enough and to spare,
Spare, spare me that rose that you wear in your hair.

The glow and the glory are plighted
To darkness, for evening is come;
The lamp in Glebe Cottage is lighted,
The birds and the sheep-bells are dumb.
I'm alone, for the others have flitted
To dine with a neighbour at Kew:
Alone, but I'm not to be pitied—
I'm thinking of you!
I wish you were here! Were I duller
Than dull, you'd be dearer than dear;
I am drest in your favourite colour—
Dear Fred, how I wish you were here!
I am wearing my lazuli necklace,
The necklace you fasten'd askew!
Was there ever so rude or so reckless
A Darling as you?

79

I want you to come and pass sentence
On two or three books with a plot;
Of course you know “Janet's Repentance”?
I am reading Sir Waverley Scott.
That story of Edgar and Lucy,
How thrilling, romantic, and true!
The Master (his bride was a goosey!)
Reminds me of you.
They tell me Cockaigne has been crowning
A Poet whose garland endures;—
It was you that first told me of Browning,—
That stupid old Browning of yours!
His vogue and his verve are alarming,
I'm anxious to give him his due,
But, Fred, he's not nearly so charming
A Poet as you!
I heard how you shot at The Beeches,
I saw how you rode Chanticleer,
I have read the report of your speeches,
And echo'd the echoing cheer:
There's a whisper of hearts you are breaking,
Dear Fred, I believe it, I do!
Small marvel that Folly is making
Her Idol of you!

80

Alas for the World, and its dearly
Bought triumph,—its fugitive bliss;
Sometimes I half wish I were merely
A plain or a penniless Miss;
But, perhaps, one is best with “a measure
Of pelf,” and I'm not sorry, too,
That I'm pretty, because it's a pleasure,
My Darling, to you!
Your whim is for frolic and fashion,
Your taste is for letters and art;—
This rhyme is the commonplace passion
That glows in a fond woman's heart:
Lay it by in some sacred deposit
For relics—we all have a few!
Love, some day they'll print it, because it
Was written to You.
1868.