I put the thing in front of him, and he got red and excited.
“It’s a poem to Mabel by that beast Browne,” he said.
Then he read it out, half to himself, but I heard. The thing ran like this:
"TO MABEL
“Oh let my Muse sing to the name of Mabel,
Whose azure eyes are fastened to my soul,
Like to forget-me-nots in button-hole.
To tell of my heart’s torment I’m unable.
My thoughts they spin; my brain it grows unstable
When fixed on Thee. Perchance it is my rôle