The End of the Day.
TO B. T.
Fails and slackens and fades away.—
The sky that was so blue before
With sudden clouds is shrouded o’er.
Swiftly, stilly the mists uprise,
Till blurred and grey the landscape lies.
* * * * * *
All day we have plied the oar; all day
Eager and keen have said our say
On life and death, on love and art,
On good or ill at Nature’s heart.
Now, grown so tired, we scarce can lift
The lazy oars, but onward drift.
And the silence is only stirred
Here and there by a broken word.
* * * * * *
O, sweeter far than strain and stress
Is the slow, creeping weariness.
And better far than thought I find
The drowsy blankness of the mind.
More than all joys of soul or sense
Is this divine indifference;
Where grief a shadow grows to be,
And peace a possibility.
Odds and Ends.
A Wall Flower.
While Tom, Dick and Harry are dancing with Jane
There is a leaden fiend lurks in my feet!
To move unto your motion, Love, were sweet.
In other ages, on another sphere,
I danced with you, and you with me, my dear.
To perfect music that was heard alway;
Woe’s me, that am so dull of foot to-day!
The First Extra.
A WALTZ SONG.
And swing, and sway, and swing!
Ah me, what bliss like unto this,
Can days and daylight bring?
Has fallen from my head;
Its odour rises sweet,
All crushed it lies, and dead.
Fair-hued, of fragrant breath;
A tender flow’r that lives an hour,
And is most sweet in death.
At a Dinner Party.
Philosophy.
When I was young and you were here,
’Mid summer roses in summer weather,
What pleasant times we’ve had together!
And Corydon; we did not meet
By brook or meadow, but among
A Philistine and flippant throng
It had no scorn at all for us!)
How many an eve of sweet July,
Heedless of Mrs. Grundy’s eye,
And sat there talking half the night;
And, gazing on the crowd below,
Thanked Fate and Heaven that made us so;—
Above light loves and sweet champagne.
For, you and I, we did eschew
The egoistic “I” and “you;”
On Art and Letters, Life and Man.
Proudly we sat, we two, on high,
Throned in our Objectivity;
A Game of Lawn Tennis.
Out here in the garden to-day?
The light through the leaves is streaming,—
Paulina cries, “Play!”
The freshly-cut grasses smell sweet;
To Teddy’s dismay, comes falling
The ball at my feet.
“But that’s such a difficult way!”
The place is a springtide wonder
Of lilac and may;
To E.
Sweep, blue-white, to the sky, which shines
Blue as blue gems; athwart the pines
The lake gleams blue.
Our Poet, with fine-frenzied eye,
You, steeped in learned lore, and I,
A poet too.
He read us Faust; he talked for hours
Philosophy (sad Schopenhauer’s),
Beneath the trees:
When he, as on the sward he lay,
Told of Lassalle who bore away
The false Louise?
That green and snug retreat was shown,
Where to the vulgar herd unknown,
Our pens we plied.
We cherished sundry idle dreams,
And with our flowing foolscap reams
The Fates defied.)
And the hushed, silver night came on,
He showed us where the glow-worm shone;—
We stooped to see.
UNWIN BROTHERS, LONDON, E.C.