"But hear, the next's in stronger style: The Cynic School asserted That two red lips which part and smile She smiled once more-" My book, I find, 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, And walk to Burnham-beeches." Agreed," I said. "For Socrates (I find he too is talking) Thinks Learning can't remain at ease She read no more. I leapt the sill: The sequel's scarce essential— Nay, more than this, I hold it still Profoundly confidential. 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. V LOVE IN WINTER ETWEEN 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; "These are the reckless ways of men. I watched them bill and coo as though They thought the sign of Spring was snow; If men but timed their loves as we, 'Twould save this inconsistency." 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?'" I POT-POURRI "Si jeunesse savait ?—” PLUNGE my hand among the leaves: For me those fragrant ruins raise "If youth but knew!" Ah, "if,” in truth ?— I can recall with what gay youth, To what light chorus, Braved the old clock-tower's dust and damp, To catch the dim Arthurian camp In misty distance; Peered at the still-room's sacred stores, Or rapped at walls for sliding doors What need had we for thoughts or cares! |