MONOLOGUE D'OUTRE TOMBE.

(Pantoum.)

Morn and noon and night,
Here I lie in the ground;
No faintest glimmer of light,
No lightest whisper of sound.

Here I lie in the ground;

The worms glide out and in;
No lightest whisper of sound,
After a life-long din.

The worms glide out and in ;
They are fruitful and multiply;

After a life-long din,

I watch them quietly.

They are fruitful and multiply,
My body dwindles the while;
I watch them quietly;

I can scarce forbear a smile.

My body dwindles the while,

I shall soon be a skeleton;

I can scarce forbear a smile

They have had such glorious fun.

I shall soon be a skeleton,

The worms are wriggling away;
They have had such glorious fun,
They will fertilise my clay.

The worms are wriggling away,
They are what I have been,

They will fertilise my clay.

The grass will grow more green.

They are what I have been.

I shall change, but what of that?
The grass will grow more green,
The parson's sheep grow fat.

I shall change, but what of that?
All flesh is grass, one says,
The parson's sheep grow fat,
The parson grows in grace.

All flesh is grass, one says,

Grass becomes flesh, one knows,

The parson grows in grace;
I am the grace he grows.

Grass becomes flesh, one knows,
He grows like a bull of Bashan.

I am the grace he grows;

I startle his congregation.

He grows like a bull of Bashan,

One day he'll be Bishop or Dean,

I startle his congregation:

One day I shall preach to the Q-n.

One day he'll be Bishop or Dean,
One of those science-haters;
One day I shall preach to the Q-n.
To think of my going in gaiters!

One of those science-haters,

Blind as a mole or bat;

To think of my going in gaiters,
And wearing a shovel hat!

Blind as a mole or bat,

No faintest glimmer of light,
And wearing a shovel hat,
Morning and noon and night.

66 'Love in Idleness."

PANTOUM.

(Song in the Malay manner.)

The wind brings up the hawthorn's breath,
The sweet airs ripple up the lake:
My soul, my soul is sick to death,

My heart, my heart is like to break.

The sweet airs ripple up the lake,

I hear the thin woods' fluttering: My heart, my heart is like to break; What part have I, alas! in spring?

I hear the thin woods' fluttering;

The brake is brimmed with linnet-song: What part have I, alas! in spring?

For me,

heart's winter is life-long.

The brake is brimmed with linnet song;

Clear carols flutter through the trees;

For me heart's winter is life-long ;

I cast my sighs on every breeze.

Clear carols flutter through the trees;

The new year hovers like a dove: I cast my sighs on every breeze;

Spring is no spring, forlorn of love.

The new year hovers like a dove
Above the breast of the green earth :
Spring is no spring, forlorn of love;
Alike to me are death and birth.

Above the breast of the green earth
The soft sky flutters like a flower:
Alike to me are death and birth;

I dig Love's grave in every hour.

The soft sky flutters like a flower
Along the glory of the hills:
I dig Love's grave in every hour,

I hear Love's dirge in all the rills.

Along the glory of the hills

Flowers slope into a rim of gold: I hear Love's dirge in all the rills; Sad singings haunt me as of old.

Flowers slope into a rim of gold

Along the marges of the sky:

Sad singings haunt me as of old;

Shall Love come back to me to die?

Along the marges of the sky

The birds wing homeward from the East Shall Love come back to me to die?

Shall Hope relive, once having ceas'd?

The birds wing homeward from the East;
I smell spice-breaths upon the air :
Shall Hope relive, once having ceas'd?
It would lie black on my despair.

I smell spice-breaths upon the air;
The golden Orient savours pass:
Hope would lie black on my despair,
Like a moon-shadow on the grass.

The golden Orient savours pass

The full spring throbs in all the shade: Like a moon-shadow on the grass,

My hope into the dusk would fade.

The full spring throbs in all the shade;
We shall have roses soon, I trow;
My hope into the dusk would fade;

Bring lilies on Love's grave to strow.

We shall have roses soon I trow;

Soon will the rich red poppies burn :
Bring lilies, on Love's grave to strow :
My hope is fled beyond return.

Soon will the rich red poppies burn;
Soon will blue iris star the stream:

My hope is fled beyond return;

Have my eyes tears for my waste dream?

Soon will blue iris star the stream;

Summer will turn the air to wine: Have my eyes tears for my waste dream? Can songs come from these lips of mine?

Suminer will turn the air to wine,

So full and sweet the mid-spring flowers: Can songs come from those lips of mine?

My thoughts are grey as winter hours.