You wind anon, a breathing-while, Away! Her thoughts are not as thine. A sterner purpose fills Her steadfast soul with deep design Of baby bows and frills; What care hath she for worlds without, Whose endless hopes revolve about Away! Tempt not the best of wives; Let not thy garish wing Come fluttering our Autumn lives With truant dreams of Spring! Away! Reseek thy "Flowery Land"; Be Buddha's law obeyed; Lest Betty's undiscerning hand Should slay . . . a future PRAED! THE CURE'S PROGRESS M THE CURE'S PROGRESS ONSIEUR the Curé down the street Comes with his kind old face, With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair, And his green umbrella-case. You may see him pass by the little "Grande Place," And the tiny "Hôtel-de-Ville"; He smiles, as he goes, to the fleuriste Rose, He turns, as a rule, through the "Marché" cool, Where the noisy fish-wives call; And his compliment pays to the " Belle Thérèse," As she knits in her dusky stall There's a letter to drop at the locksmith's shop, Has jubilant hopes, for the Curé gropes There's a little dispute with a merchant of fruit, Who is said to be heterodox, That will ended be with a "Ma foi, oui !" There is also a word that no one heard But a grander way for the Sous-Préfet, For ever through life the Curé goes With a smile on his kind old face With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair And his green umbrella-case. THE MASQUE OF THE MONTHS THE MASQUE OF THE MONTHS (FOR A FRESCO) IRSTLY thou, churl son of Janus, FIRS Rough for cold, in drugget clad, Com'st with rack and rheum to pain us ;Firstly thou, churl son of Janus. Caverned now is old Sylvanus ; Numb and chill are maid and lad. After thee thy dripping brother, Dank his weeds around him cling; Fogs his footsteps swathe and smother,- Hark! for March thereto doth follow, Thou then, April, Iris' daughter, Born between the storm and sun; Coy as nymph ere Pan hath caught her, Thou then, April, Iris' daughter. May the jocund cometh after, Month of all the Loves (and mine); Month of mock and cuckoo-laughter,May the jocund cometh after. Beaks are gay on roof and rafter; Luckless lovers peak and pine. June the next, with roses scented, Hot July thereafter rages, Dog-star smitten, wild with heat; Fierce as pard the hunter cages,— Hot July thereafter rages. Traffic now no more engages; Tongues are still in stall and street. August next, with cider mellow, Laughs from out the poppied corn; Hook at back, a lusty fellow,August next, with cider mellow. Now in wains the sheafage yellow 'Twixt the hedges slow is borne. |