Fly Leaves | Page 7

roll in it, if you would like a
Few holes in your skin.
You wouldn't? Then think of how kind you
Should be to the insects who crave?Your compassion--and then, look behind you
At you barley-ears! Don't they look brave?As they undulate--(undulate, mind you,
From unda, a wave).
The noise of those sheep-bells, how faint it
Sounds here--(on account of our height)!?And this hillock itself--who could paint it,
With its changes of shadow and light??Is it not--(never, Eddy, say "ain't it") -
A marvellous sight?
Then yon desolate eerie morasses,
The haunts of the snipe and the hern -?(I shall question the two upper classes
On aquatiles, when we return) -?Why, I see on them absolute masses
Of filix or fern.
How it interests e'en a beginner
(Or tiro) like dear little Ned!?Is he listening? As I am a sinner
He's asleep--he is wagging his head.?Wake up! I'll go home to my dinner,
And you to your bed.
The boundless ineffable prairie;
The splendour of mountain and lake?With their hues that seem ever to vary;
The mighty pine-forests which shake?In the wind, and in which the unwary
May tread on a snake;
And this wold with its heathery garment -
Are themes undeniably great.?But--although there is not any harm in't -
It's perhaps little good to dilate?On their charms to a dull little varmint
Of seven or eight.
ARCADES AMBO.
Why are ye wandering aye 'twixt porch and porch,
Thou and thy fellow--when the pale stars fade?At dawn, and when the glowworm lights her torch,
O Beadle of the Burlington Arcade??--Who asketh why the Beautiful was made??A wan cloud drifting o'er the waste of blue,
The thistledown that floats above the glade,?The lilac-blooms of April--fair to view,?And naught but fair are these; and such, I ween, are you.
Yes, ye are beautiful. The young street boys
Joy in your beauty. Are ye there to bar?Their pathway to that paradise of toys,
Ribbons and rings? Who'll blame ye if ye are??Surely no shrill and clattering crowd should mar?The dim aisle's stillness, where in noon's mid-glow
Trip fair-hair'd girls to boot-shop or bazaar;?Where, at soft eve, serenely to and fro?The sweet boy-graduates walk, nor deem the pastime slow.
And O! forgive me, Beadles, if I paid
Scant tribute to your worth, when first ye stood?Before me robed in broadcloth and brocade
And all the nameless grace of Beadlehood!?I would not smile at ye--if smile I could?Now as erewhile, ere I had learn'd to sigh:
Ah, no! I know ye beautiful and good,?And evermore will pause as I pass by,?And gaze, and gazing think, how base a thing am I.
WAITING.
"O come, O come," the mother pray'd
And hush'd her babe: "let me behold?Once more thy stately form array'd
Like autumn woods in green and gold!
"I see thy brethren come and go;
Thy peers in stature, and in hue?Thy rivals. Same like monarchs glow
With richest purple: some are blue
"As skies that tempt the swallow back;
Or red as, seen o'er wintry seas,?The star of storm; or barr'd with black
And yellow, like the April bees.
"Come they and go! I heed not, I.
Yet others hail their advent, cling?All trustful to their side, and fly
Safe in their gentle piloting
"To happy homes on heath or hill,
By park or river. Still I wait?And peer into the darkness: still
Thou com'st not--I am desolate.
"Hush! hark! I see a towering form!
From the dim distance slowly roll'd?It rocks like lilies in a storm,
And O, its hues are green and gold:
"It comes, it comes! Ah rest is sweet,
And there is rest, my babe, for us!"?She ceased, as at her very feet
Stopp'd the St. John's Wood omnibus.
PLAY.
Play, play, while as yet it is day:?While the sweet sunlight is warm on the brae!?Hark to the lark singing lay upon lay,?While the brown squirrel eats nuts on the spray?And in the apple-leaves chatters the jay!?Play, play, even as they!?What though the cowslips ye pluck will decay,?What though the grass will be presently hay??What though the noise that ye make should dismay?Old Mrs. Clutterbuck over the way??Play, play, for your locks will grow gray;?Even the marbles ye sport with are clay.
Play, ay in the crowded highway:?Was it not made for you? Yea, my lad, yea.?True that the babes you were bid to convey?Home may fall out or be stolen or stray;?True that the tip-cat you toss about may?Strike an old gentleman, cause him to sway,?Stumble, and p'raps be run o'er by a dray:?Still why delay? Play, my son, play!?Barclay and Perkins, not you, have to pay.
Play, play, your sonatas in A,?Heedless of what your next neighbour may say!?Dance and be gay as a faun or a fay,?Sing like the lad in the boat on the bay;?Sing, play--if your neighbours inveigh?Feebly against you, they're lunatics, eh??Bang, twang, clatter and clang,?Strum, thrum, upon fiddle and drum;?Neigh, bray, simply obey?All your sweet impulses, stop not or stay!?Rattle the "bones," hit a tinbottom'd tray?Hard with the fireshovel, hammer away!?Is not your neighbour your natural prey??Should he confound you, it's only in play.
LOVE.
Canst thou love me, lady?
I've not learn'd to woo:?Thou art on the shady
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