12
Happiness, brighter than rubies, is dead;
Life’s battle, sterner and busier now,
Heals the sore bruise that love left as it fled,
Buries remembrance of long-broken vow!
13
Press critics fall on me like sharks:
“A shameless patcher of odds and ends,
No chapter original,” and more remarks
In adverse mood. But stay, my friends,
He carpeth best who hath his record clean;
My faults are published, yours are yet unseen!
14
Plates are his staple, fashion-forms of grace
In pastel deftly hinted.
Pleats soft as petals, crowned by Beauty’s face,
In palest hues are tinted.