XI,
One thing makes me weep
He was wise one way, and scorned sleep.
Wherefore he sleeps not, does not hear
That still small dreadful voice of fear.
Therefore he realizes not
That this is his eternal lot.
Therefore he suffers not at all.
XII.
Luckier is he than one, a small
Wild girl, whose one desire on earth
Was to—be blunt with it !—give birth
To children. Here she’s fairly in it!
Pumps out her fourteen babes a minute;
Her (under chloroform) the voice
Bids to be gleesome and rejoice:
*© No sterile God balks ¢hime endeavour.
This sort of thing goes on for ever.”
XIII.
I was a humorous youth enough
On earth; I laughed when things were rough.
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