Volume Iv Part 50 (2/2)

Was it not prime--I leave you all to guess How prime!--to have a Jude in love's distress Come spooning round, and murmuring balmilee, ”O crikey, Bill!”

For in such rorty wise doth Love express His blooming views, and asks for your address, And makes it right, and does the gay and free.

I kissed her--I did so! And her and me Was pals. And if that ain't good business, ”O crikey, Bill!”

II. VILLANELLE

Now ain't they utterly too-too (She ses, my Missus mine, ses she), Them flymy little bits of Blue.

Joe, just you kool 'em--nice and skew Upon our old meogginee, Now ain't they utterly too-too?

They're better than a pot'n' a screw, They're equal to a Sunday spree, Them flymy little bits of Blue!

Suppose I put 'em up the flue, And booze the profits, Joe? Not me.

Now ain't they utterly too-too?

I do the 'Igh Art fake, I do.

Joe, I'm consummate; and I see Them flymy little bits of Blue.

Which, Joe, is why I ses ter you-- Aesthetic-like, and limp, and free-- Now ain't they utterly too-too, Them flymy little bits of Blue?

William Ernest Henley [1849-1903]

THE POETS AT TEA

I.--(Macaulay) Pour, varlet, pour the water, The water steaming hot!

A spoonful for each man of us, Another for the pot!

We shall not drink from amber, No Capuan slave shall mix For us the snows of Athos With port at thirty-six; Whiter than snow the crystals Grown sweet 'neath tropic fires, More rich the herb of China's field, The pasture-lands more fragrance yield; Forever let Britannia wield The teapot of her sires!

II.--(Tennyson) I think that I am drawing to an end: For on a sudden came a gasp for breath, And stretching of the hands, and blinded eyes, And a, great darkness falling on my soul.

O Hallelujah!... Kindly pa.s.s the milk.

III.--(Swinburne) As the sin that was sweet in the sinning Is foul in the ending thereof, As the heat of the summer's beginning Is past in the winter of love: O purity, painful and pleading!

O coldness, ineffably gray!

O hear us, our handmaid unheeding, And take it away!

IV.--(Cowper) The cosy fire is bright and gay, The merry kettle boils away And hums a cheerful song.

I sing the saucer and the cup; Pray, Mary, fill the teapot up, And do not make it strong.

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