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That crowned； or failed to crown； the day；
Too honest or too tame to steal
You broke into the beaten way；
Plied loom or awl like other men；
And learned to love the guineas' chink …
Oh； recreant sires； who doomed me then
To earn so few … with Pen and Ink！
Where it hath fallen the tree must lie。
'Tis over late for ME to roam；
Yet the caged bird who hears the cry
Of his wild fellows fleeting home；
May feel no sharper pang than mine；
Who seem to hear； whene'er I think；
Spate in the stream； and wind in pine；
Call me to quit dull Pen and Ink。
For then the spirit wandering；
That slept within the blood； awakes；
For then the summer and the spring
I fain would meet by streams and lakes；
But ah； my Birthright long is sold；
But custom chains me； link on link；
And I must get me； as of old；
Back to my tools； to Pen and Ink。
A DREAM。
Why will you haunt my sleep？
You know it may not be；
The grave is wide and deep；
That sunders you and me；
In bitter dreams we reap
The sorrow we have sown；
And I would I were asleep；
Forgotten and alone！
We knew and did not know；
We saw and did not see；
The nets that long ago
Fate wove for you and me；
The cruel nets that keep
The birds that sob and moan；
And I would we were asleep；
Forgotten and alone！
THE SINGING ROSE。
'La Rose qui chante et l'herbe qui egare。'
White Rose on the grey garden wall；
Where now no night…wind whispereth；
Call to the far…off flowers； and call
With murmured breath and musical
Till all the Roses hear； and all
Sing to my Love what the White Rose saith。
White Rose on the grey garden wall
That long ago we sung！
Again you come at Summer's call； …
Again beneath my windows all
With trellised flowers is hung；
With clusters of the roses white
Like fragrant stars in a green night。
Once more I hear the sister towers
Each unto each reply；
The bloom is on those limes of ours；
The weak wind shakes the bloom in showers；
Snow from a cloudless sky；
There is no change this happy day
Within the College Gardens grey！
St。 Mary's； Merton； Magdalen … still
Their sweet bells chime and swing；
The old years answer them； and thrill
A wintry heart against its will
With memories of the Spring …
That Spring we sought the gardens through
For flowers which ne'er in gardens grew！
For we； beside our nurse's knee；
In fairy tales had heard
Of that strange Rose which blossoms free
On boughs of an enchanted tree；
And sings like any bird！
And of the weed beside the way
That leadeth lovers' steps astray！
In vain we sought the Singing Rose
Whereof old legends tell；
Alas； we found it not mid those
Within the grey old College close；
That budded； flowered； and fell； …
We found that herb called 'Wandering'
And meet no more； no more in Spring！
Yes； unawares the unhappy grass
That leadeth steps astray；
We trod； and so it came to pass
That never more we twain； alas；
Shall walk the self…same way。
And each must deem； though neither knows；
That NEITHER found the Singing Rose！
A REVIEW IN RHYME。
A little of Horace； a little of Prior；
A sketch of a Milkmaid； a lay of the Squire …
These； these are 'on draught' 'At the Sign of the Lyre！'
A child in Blue Ribbons that sings to herself；
A talk of the Books on the Sheraton shelf；
A sword of the Stuarts； a wig of the Guelph；
A LAI； a PANTOUM； a BALLADE； a RONDEAU；
A pastel by Greuze； and a sketch by Moreau；
And the chimes of the rhymes that sing sweet as they go；
A fan； and a folio； a ringlet； a glove；
'Neath a dance by Laguerre on the ceiling above；
And a dream of the days when the bard was in love；
A scent of dead roses； a glance at a pun；
A toss of old powder； a glint of the sun；
They meet in the volume that Dobson has done！
If there's more that the heart of a man can desire；
He may search； in his Swinburne； for fury and fire；
If he's wise … he'll alight 'At the Sign of the Lyre！'
COLINETTE。
For a sketch by Mr。 G。 Leslie； R。A。
France your country； as we know；
Room enough for guessing yet；
What lips now or long ago；
Kissed and named you … Colinette。
In what fields from sea to sea；
By what stream your home was set；
Loire or Seine was glad of thee；
Marne or Rhone； O Colinette？
Did you stand with maidens ten；
Fairer maids were never seen；
When the young king and his men
Passed among the orchards green？
Nay； old ballads have a note
Mournful； we would fain forget；
No such sad old air should float
Round your young brows； Colinette。
Say； did Ronsard sing to you；
Shepherdess； to lull his pain；
When the court went wandering through
Rose pleasances of Touraine？
Ronsard and his famous Rose
Long are dust the breezes fret；
You； within the garden close；
You are blooming； Colinette。
Have I seen you proud and gay；
With a patched and perfumed beau；
Dancing through the summer day；
Misty summer of Watteau？
Nay； so sweet a maid as you
Never walked a minuet
With the splendid courtly crew；
Nay； forgive me； Colinette。
Not from Greuze's canvases
Do you cast a glance； a smile；
You are not as one of these；
Yours is beauty without guile。
Round your maiden brows and hair
Maidenhood and Childhood met
Crown and kiss you； sweet and fair；
New art's blossom； Colinette。
A SUNSET OF WATTEAU。
LUI。
The silk sail fills； the soft winds wake；
Arise and tempt the seas；
Our ocean is the Palace lake；
Our waves the ripples that we make
Among the mirrored trees。
ELLE。
Nay； sweet the shore； and sweet the song；
And dear the languid dream；
The music mingled all day long
With paces of the dancing throng；
And murmur of the stream。
An hour ago； an hour ago；
We rested in the shade；
And now； why should we seek to know
What way the wilful waters flow？
There is no fairer glade。
LUI。
Nay； pleasure flits； and we must sail；
And seek him everywhere；
Perchance in sunset's golden pale
He listens to the nightingale；
Amid the perfumed air。
Come； he has fled； you are not you；
And I no more am I；
Delight is changeful as the hue
Of heaven； that is no longer blue
In yonder sunset sky。
ELLE。
Nay； if we seek we shall not find；
If we knock none openeth；
Nay； see； the sunset fades behind
The mountains； and the cold night wind
Blows from the house of Death。
NIGHTINGALE WEATHER。
'Serai…je nonnette； oui ou non？
Semi…je nonnette？ je crois que non。
Derriere chez mon pere
Il est un bois taillis；
Le rossignol y chante
Et le jour et la nuit。
Il chante pour les filles
Qui n'ont pas d'ami；
Il ne chant pas pour moi；
J'en ai un； Dieu merci。' … Old French
I'll never be a nun； I trow；
While apple bloom is white as snow；
B