I’ve felt no lyric impulse, truth to tell,
From that day forth. My vein appeared to peter
Entirely out; and now, if I essay
To turn a verse or two for New Year’s Day,
I make the veriest hash of rhyme and metre,
And—I’ve no notion what the cause can be—
It turns to law and not to poetry.
Guldstad [clinks glasses with him].
And, trust me, you’re no whit the worse for that!
[To Falk.