Very Hard Lines.
HOW THEY WERE WRITTEN TO ORDER.
(Leaf from a Laureate’s Diary.)
9 A.M.—Bother the Jubilee! What in the name of fortune, can one do with such a rubbishing subject? But here’s Macmillan waiting, and I haven’t done a single line yet. Must get something put on to paper, if only to quiet him. But how on earth to begin! Get in “fifty” somehow. Want fifty somethings that come but once a year. Christmas? Good. That suggests Clown. I have it.
Fifty times the Clown has grinned and tumbled.
No. That won’t do. It’s too shoppy, stagey. Has a soupçon of the Promise of May about it. Wants something wider Ha! The Row, suggesting the Season, of course.
Fifty times the Row has filled and emptied.
No. Don’t like it. Reads as if I was talking of a cistern. Too heavy. Try something lighter. Pastry? Feathers? Flowers? Ha! that’s it. Flowers, of course. Here, I’ve got it!
Fifty times the Rose has flowered and faded.
Anyhow, that’ll do to go off with. Let’s see. I want fifty something elses to follow it up with. What shall it be? Cartloads? Handfuls? Armfuls? Autumns? Harvests? Good again. Not that there’s any precise connection between them; but one must stick down something, How’ll this do?