But the deaf old man took a pin from his desk, picked a piece of wool the size of a hen’s egg from his ear, had a good look at it, decided in its favour and replaced it in the aforementioned organ.
1914.
POEMS AT THE VILLA PAULINE 1916
VILLA PAULINE
But, ah! before he came
You were only a name:
Four little rooms and a cupboard
Without a bone,
And I was alone!
Now with your windows wide
Everything from outside
Of sun and flower and loveliness
Comes in to hide,
To play, to laugh on the stairs,
To catch unawares
Our childish happiness,
And to glide
Through the four little rooms on tip-toe
With lifted finger,
Pretending we shall not know
When the shutters are shut
That they still linger
Long, long after.
Lying close in the dark
He says to me: “Hark,
Isn’t that laughter?”
1916.