SNATCH
From tavern to tavern
Youth passes along,
With an armful of girl
And a heart full of song.
From flower to flower
The butterfly sips,
O passionate limbs
And importunate lips!
From candle to candle
The moth loves to fly,
O sweet, sweet to burn!
And still sweeter to die!
MY MAIDEN VOTE
(TO JOHN FRASER)
There, in my mind's-eye, pure it lay,
My lodger's vote! 'Twas mine to-day.
It seemed a sort of maidenhood,
My little power for public good,—
Oh keep it uncorrupted, pray!
And, when it must be given away,
See it be given with a sense
Of most uncanvassed innocence.
Alas!—but few there be that know't—
How grave a thing it is to vote!
For most men's votes are given, I hear,
Either for rhetoric or—beer.
A young man's vote—O fair estate!
Of the great tree electorate
A living leaf, of this great sea
A motive wave of empire I,
On this stupendous wheel—a fly.
O maiden vote, how pure must be
The party that is worthy thee!
And thereupon my mind began
That perfect government to plan,
The high millennium of man.
Then in my dream I saw arise
An England, ah! so fair and wise,
An England generously great,
No selfish island, but a state
Upon the world's bright forehead worn,
A mighty star of mighty morn.
And statesmen in that dream became
No tricksters of the petty aim,
Mere speculators in the rise
Of programmes and of party cries,
Expert in all those turns and tricks
That make this senate-house of ours,
Westminster, with its lordly towers,
The stock-exchange of politics.
But that ideal Parliament
Did all it said, said all it meant,
And every Minister of State
Was guileless—as a candidate.