A DIALOGUE FROM PLATO "Le temps le mieux employé est celui qu'on perd.” -CLAUDE TILLIER. "D"read" three hours. Both notes and text I'D Were fast a mist becoming; In bounced a vagrant bee, perplexed, And filled the room with humming, Then out. The casement's leafage sways, And, parted light, discloses Miss Di., with hat and book,- -a maze "You're reading Greek?" "I am—and you?” "O, mine's a mere romancer!" 'So Plato is." "Then read him-do; And I'll read mine in answer." I read. "My Plato (Plato, too, That wisdom thus should harden!) Declares blue eyes look doubly blue Beneath a Dolly Varden.'" She smiled. "My book in turn avers "But hear, the next's in stronger style: The Cynic School asserted That two red lips which part and smile May not be controverted!" She smiled once more— My book, I find, Observes some modern doctors Would make the Cynics out a kind Then I"Why not? Ephesian law, She blushed-this time. "If Plato's page No wiser precept teaches, Then I'd renounce that doubtful sage, "Agreed," I said. "For Socrates Thinks Learning can't remain at ease She read no more. I leapt the sill: THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE POOR Rose! I lift you from the street— Far better I should own you, Than you should lie for random feet, Where careless hands have thrown you! Poor pinky petals, crushed and torn! I saw you last in Edith's hair. A month-" a little month "—ago-- 'Twixt you and me, my Rose, you know, But let that pass. She gave you then Behind the oleander To one, perhaps, of all the men, Who best could understand her, Cyril that, duly flattered, took, With just the same Arcadian look Then, having waltzed till every star Lit up his cynical cigar, And tossed you downward, scorning. Kismet, my Rose! Revenge is sweet, She made my heart-strings quiver; And yet you sha'n't lie in the street, I'll drop you in the River. LOVE IN WINTER BETWEEN the berried holly-bush The Blackbird whistled to the Thrush : "Which way did bright-eyed Bella go? Look, Speckle-breast, across the snow,Are those her dainty tracks I see, That wind beside the shrubbery?" The Throstle pecked the berries still. "What would you?" twittered in the Wren; "Nay, Gossip," chirped the Robin, "nay; I like their unreflective way. Besides, I heard enough to show Their love is proof against the snow :'Why wait,' he said, 'why wait for May, When love can warm a winter's day ?'” |