Part 16 (1/2)

'T 'is even so in other things--yes, in our greedy eyes The biggest boon is some elusive, never-captured prize; We angle for the honors and the sweets of human life-- Like fishermen we brave the seas that roll in endless strife;

And then at last, when all is done and we are spent and gray, We own the biggest fish we've caught are those that got away.

I would not have it otherwise; 't is better there should be Much bigger fish than I have caught a-swimming in the sea; For now some worthier one than I may angle for that game-- May by his arts entice, entrap, and comprehend the same; Which, having done, perchance he'll bless the man who's proud to say That the biggest fish he ever caught were those that got away.

THIRTY-NINE

O hapless day! O wretched day!

I hoped you'd pa.s.s me by-- Alas, the years have sneaked away And all is changed but I!

Had I the power, I would remand You to a gloom condign, But here you've crept upon me and I--I am thirty-nine!

Now, were I thirty-five, I could a.s.sume a flippant guise; Or, were I forty years, I should Undoubtedly look wise; For forty years are said to bring Sedateness superfine; But thirty-nine don't mean a thing-- _a bas_ with thirty-nine!

You healthy, hulking girls and boys,-- What makes you grow so fast?

Oh, I'll survive your l.u.s.ty noise-- I'm tough and bound to last!

No, no--I'm old and withered too-- I feel my powers decline (Yet none believes this can be true Of one at thirty-nine).

And you, dear girl with velvet eyes, I wonder what you mean Through all our keen anxieties By keeping sweet sixteen.

With your dear love to warm my heart, Wretch were I to repine; I was but jesting at the start-- I'm glad I'm thirty-nine!

So, little children, roar and race As blithely as you can, And, sweetheart, let your tender grace Exalt the Day and Man; For then these factors (I'll engage) All subtly shall combine To make both juvenile and sage The one who's thirty-nine!

Yes, after all, I'm free to say I would much rather be Standing as I do stand to-day, 'Twixt devil and deep sea; For though my face be dark with care Or with a grimace s.h.i.+ne, Each haply falls unto my share, For I am thirty-nine!

'Tis pa.s.sing meet to make good cheer And lord it like a king, Since only once we catch the year That doesn't mean a thing.

O happy day! O gracious day!

I pledge thee in this wine-- Come, let us journey on our way A year, good Thirty-Nine!

Sept. 2, 1889.

YVYTOT

_Where wail the waters in their flaw A spectre wanders to and fro, And evermore that ghostly sh.o.r.e Bemoans the heir of Yvytot_.

_Sometimes, when, like a fleecy pall, The mists upon the waters fall, Across the main float shadows twain That do not heed the spectre's call_.

The king his son of Yvytot Stood once and saw the waters go Boiling around with hissing sound The sullen phantom rocks below.

And suddenly he saw a face Lift from that black and seething place-- Lift up and gaze in mute amaze And tenderly a little s.p.a.ce,

A mighty cry of love made he-- No answering word to him gave she, But looked, and then sunk back again Into the dark and depthless sea.

And ever afterward that face, That he beheld such little s.p.a.ce, Like wraith would rise within his eyes And in his heart find biding place.