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Page 1 of 11904 · PDF PAGE 96
A RONDEL A BRIEF half-hour is man’s allotted bliss, A space of sunshine and eternal shower ; A little time for love, as short as is A brief half-hour. Hell hath no witchcraft, heaven hath no power, To change, prolong, delay, or hasten this. It comes and flits, a bee from bud to flower. No strength hath love, no virtue hath love’s kiss, To move one jot fate’s doom, man’s meed, sin’s dower. Between birth’s darkness and the gates of Dis, A brief half-hour! 84
1904 · PDF PAGE 104
…we should have been among them! Yet so it was. Many years have elapsed since our feet trod civilized MacAdam ; many years since we spent hour after happy hour poring over our Poes. Surprising? Ay, but true. Yet some dimmest recollection of Dr Tarr and Professor Feather does hurtle heavenward to us across the mist-. kissed abyss of memory: so much, no more. The actor who represented Doctor Goudron—his name is worthy to be graven on tablets of brass: it is con- sequently not to be printed here. His self-restraint, his command of expression, his e…
1904 · PDF PAGE 33
…, And happiness spills at the brink ; Love opens the window and flies :— But Smith’s is a permanent ink. Prosperity favoureth trades. An hour, and then troubles arise. The workers drop axes and spades, And Brandenburg labour supplies The goods. It is very unwise Your money in labour to sink. It will vanish, the blue in the skies :— But Smith’s is a permanent ink. And even the woe that invades Will pass, I make bold to surmise, Like a man who for salmon trout wades Till the water comes over his thighs.
1904 · PDF PAGE 54
…masted ships Leap like young fawns beneath the blast : The water beats the shingle fast As if its heart with passion beat, And the sweet hour of sleep is past Where Love has chosen our retreat. The moon is up; the star-sky dawns ; My lover turns a ruby lip: There gather nymphs, and eager fauns To watch us play ; the shadows slip, And sylph and fountain-fairy dip Between the leaves, to scent the sweet Perfume of kisses, when we clip, Where Love has chosen our retreat. ENVOI Princess, the fishing-boats are free, Whose brown sails kiss the zephyrs…
1904 · PDF PAGE 94
ODE TO GERALD FESTUS KELLY CURLED eyelids that hide like a beetle Black eyes that grow green for an hour ; The weary wide limbs and the leetle White hands, like a boot in a bower ; When thou art gone down, as a jelly, What shall rest of us then, as we part, O mystic and dolorous Kelly, Apostle of Art! Seven sorrows are sung by the Herald :? But thy daubs, which are seventy times seven, Will kill me my militant Gerald, And then they will haunt me in heaven ; Fierce eyebrow or famishing bosom, Rossetti or Aubrey or Jones, Some buxom, some frail a…
1904 · PDF PAGE 75
…noblest grammar, with hardly any words really misspelt at all, I could describe how neither coxswain felt at all nervous a quarter of an hour before the race ; how both the crews felt sure that they would score the race, how Oxford drew away at Chiswick Eyot amid a most extraordinary spate of pocket-handkerchiefs waved wildly ; how Cambridge crept up with wave-dividing prow with even louder cheers; my sex forbids I should describe how seven’s stretcher skids; but, generously giving up his briar, Bow (who sits next him) with unwonted fire holds …