Part 12 (1/2)
TO MOLLIDUSTA
When gooseberries grow on the stem of a daisy, And plum-puddings roll on the tide to the sh.o.r.e, And julep is made from the curls of a jazey, Oh, then, Mollidusta, I'll love thee no more.
When steamboats no more on the Thames shall be going, And a cast-iron bridge reach Vauxhall from the Nore, And the Grand Junction waterworks cease to be flowing, Oh, then, Mollidusta, I'll love thee no more.
_Planche_.
JOHN JONES
_At the Piano_
I
Love me and leave me; what love bids retrieve me? can June's fist grasp May?
Leave me and love me; hopes eyed once above me like spring's sprouts, decay; Fall as the snow falls, when summer leaves grow false--cards packed for storm's play!
II
Nay, say Decay's self be but last May's elf, wing s.h.i.+fted, eye sheathed-- Changeling in April's crib rocked, who lets 'scape rills locked fast since frost breathed-- Skin cast (think!) adder-like, now bloom bursts bladder-like,-- bloom frost bequeathed?
III
Ah, how can fear sit and hear as love hears it grief's heart's cracked grate's screech?
Chance lets the gate sway that opens on hate's way and shews on shame's beach Crouched like an imp sly change watch sweet love's shrimps lie, a toothful in each.
IV
Time feels his tooth slip on husks wet from Truth's lip, which drops them and grins-- Sh.e.l.ls where no throb stirs of life left in lobsters since joy thrilled their fins-- Hues of the p.a.w.n's tail or comb that makes dawn stale, so red for our sins!
V
Leaves love last year smelt now feel dead love's tears melt--flies caught in time's mes.h.!.+
Salt are the dews in which new time breeds new sin, brews blood and stews flesh; Next year may see dead more germs than this weeded and reared them afresh.
Old times left perish, new time to cherish; life just s.h.i.+fts its tune; As, when the day dies, half afraid, eyes the growth of the moon; Love me and save me, take me or waive me; death takes one so soon!
_A.C. Swinburne_.
_THE OWL AND THE p.u.s.s.y-CAT_
The Owl and the p.u.s.s.y-Cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat: They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above, And sang to a small guitar, ”Oh, lovely p.u.s.s.y, oh, p.u.s.s.y, my love, What a beautiful p.u.s.s.y you are, You are, You are!
What a beautiful p.u.s.s.y you are!”
p.u.s.s.y said to the Owl, ”You elegant fowl, How charmingly sweet you sing!
Oh, let us be married; too long we have tarried: But what shall we do for a ring?”
They sailed away for a year and a day, To the land where the bong-tree grows; And there in the wood a Piggy-wig stood, With a ring at the end of his nose, His nose, His nose, With a ring at the end of his nose.