“IT NEVER LOOKS LIKE SUMMER”
“It never looks like summer here
On Beeny by the sea.”
But though she saw its look as drear,
Summer it seemed to me.
It never looks like summer now
Whatever weather’s there;
But ah, it cannot anyhow,
On Beeny or elsewhere!
Boscastle,
March 8, 1913.
EVERYTHING COMES
“The house is bleak and cold
Built so new for me!
All the winds upon the wold
Search it through for me;
No screening trees abound,
And the curious eyes around
Keep on view for me.”
“My Love, I am planting trees
As a screen for you
Both from winds, and eyes that tease
And peer in for you.
Only wait till they have grown,
No such bower will be known
As I mean for you.”
“Then I will bear it, Love,
And will wait,” she said.
—So, with years, there grew a grove.
“Skill how great!” she said.
“As you wished, Dear?”—“Yes, I see!
But—I’m dying; and for me
’Tis too late,” she said.
THE MAN WITH A PAST
There was merry-making
When the first dart fell
As a heralding,—
Till grinned the fully bared thing,
And froze like a spell—
Like a spell.