8  
WHY JESUS WEPT. 
Hear an awakening spirit’s a. b, ab !  but 
Let not thy Mediaeval logic thrust us 
Into contempt ; nor, lady, can we trust us 
Wholly to thy most pardonable failing, 
Sentiment ; one will rot, the other rust us. 
Let us just listen to the spirit ailing : — 
’Tis like a God in bliss, or like a damned soul wailing ! 
 
(A word to bid you notice with what mastery 
Of technique that last stanza there was written. 
I risk a poet’s license on one cast, Ery ! 
(Pet name for thee, Eros !)  The lines are smitten 
Into due harmony double-rhymed, well knitten. 
Wherefore, to show I can repeat the effort, 
This verse inserted like a playful kitten 
To usher in the youth’s c. d. e. f., ert 
Or inert as may be ; it can’t the lucky deaf hurt.) 
 
 
SCENE II 
 
 
SIR PERCY PERCIVALE, on a mountain summit. 
 
 
No higher ?  No higher ? 
All hell is my portion. 
My mouth is as fire ; 
My thought an abortion. 
This is the summit ?