Part 107 (1/2)

My lank limp lily, my long lithe lily, My languid lily-love fragile and thin, With dank leaves dangling and flower-flap chilly.

That s.h.i.+nes like the s.h.i.+n of a Highland gilly!

Mottled and moist as a cold toad's skin!

l.u.s.trous and leper-white, splendid and splay!

Art thou not Utter and wholly akin To my own wan soul and my own wan chin, And my own wan nose-tip, tilted to sway The peac.o.c.k's feather, _sweeter than sin_, That I bought for a halfpenny yesterday?

My long lithe lily, my languid lily, My lank limp lily-love, how shall I win-- Woo thee to wink at me? Silver lily, How shall I sing to thee, softly or shrilly?

What shall I weave for thee--what shall I spin-- Rondel, or rondeau, or virelai?

Shall I buzz like a bee with my face thrust in Thy choice, chaste chalice, or choose me a tin Trumpet, or touchingly, tenderly play On the weird bird-whistle, _sweeter than sin_, That I bought for a halfpenny yesterday.

My languid lily, my lank limp lily, My long lithe lily-love, men may grin-- Say that I'm soft and supremely silly-- What care I while you whisper stilly; What care I while you smile? Not a pin!

While you smile, you whisper--'Tis sweet to decay?

I have watered with chlorodine, tears of chagrin, The churchyard mould I have planted thee in, Upside down in an intense way, In a rough red flower-pot, _sweeter than sin_, That I bought for a halfpenny yesterday.

_Unknown._

GILLIAN

Jack and Jille I have made me an end of the moods of maidens, I have loosed me, and leapt from the links of love; From the kiss that cloys and desire that deadens, The woes that madden, the words that move.

In the dim last days of a spent September, When fruits are fallen, and flies are fain; Before you forget, and while I remember, I cry as I shall cry never again.

Went up a hylle Where the strong fell faints in the lazy levels Of misty meadows, and streams that stray; We raised us at eve from our rosy revels, With the faces aflame for the death of the day; With pale lips parted, and sighs that s.h.i.+ver, Low lids that cling to the last of love: We left the levels, we left the river, And turned us and toiled to the air above.

To fetch a paile of water, By the sad sweet springs that have salved our sorrow, The fates that haunt us, the grief that grips-- Where we walk not to-day nor shall walk not tomorrow The wells of Lethe for wearied lips.

With souls nor shaken with tears nor laughter, With limp knees loosed as of priests that pray, We bowed us and bent to the white well-water, We dipped and we drank it and bore away.

Jack felle downe The low light trembled on languid lashes, The haze of your hair on my mouth was blown, Our love flashed fierce from its fading ashes, As night's dim net on the day was thrown.

What was it meant for, or made for, that minute, But that our lives in delight should be dipt?

Was it yours, or my fault, or fate's, that in it Our frail feet faltered, our steep steps slipt.

And brake his crowne, and Jille came tumblynge after.

Our linked hands loosened and lapsed in sunder, Love from our limbs as a s.h.i.+ft was shed, But paused a moment, to watch with wonder The pale pained body, the bursten head.

While our sad souls still with regrets are riven, While the blood burns bright on our bruised brows, I have set you free, and I stand forgiven-- And now I had better go call my cows.

_Unknown._

EXTRACTS FKOM THE RUBAIYAT OF OMAR CAYENNE

Wake! for the Hack can scatter into flight Shakespeare and Dante in a single Night!