Wherever the dwarf decided to go
At his heels the other trotted meekly,
(Perhaps—I know not—reproaching weakly)
Like one Fate bade that it must be so,
Whether he wished or no.
Various sights in various climes
I have seen, and more I may see yet,
But that sight never shall I forget,
And have thought it the sorriest of pantomimes,
If once, a hundred times!
THE MEMORIAL BRASS: 186–
“Why do you weep there, O sweet lady,
Why do you weep before that brass?—
(I’m a mere student sketching the mediaeval)
Is some late death lined there, alas?—
Your father’s? . . . Well, all pay the debt that paid he!”
“Young man, O must I tell!—My husband’s! And under
His name I set mine, and my death!—
Its date left vacant till my heirs should fill it,
Stating me faithful till my last breath.”
—“Madam, that you are a widow wakes my wonder!”
“O wait! For last month I—remarried!
And now I fear ’twas a deed amiss.
We’ve just come home. And I am sick and saddened
At what the new one will say to this;
And will he think—think that I should have tarried?
“I may add, surely,—with no wish to harm him—
That he’s a temper—yes, I fear!
And when he comes to church next Sunday morning,
And sees that written . . . O dear, O dear!”
—“Madam, I swear your beauty will disarm him!”
HER LOVE-BIRDS
When I looked up at my love-birds
That Sunday afternoon,
There was in their tiny tune
A dying fetch like broken words,
When I looked up at my love-birds
That Sunday afternoon.
When he, too, scanned the love-birds
On entering there that day,
’Twas as if he had nought to say
Of his long journey citywards,
When he, too, scanned the love-birds,
On entering there that day.