FINALE
Schizzando ma con sentimento
A sigh sent wrong,
A kiss that goes astray,
A sorrow the years endlong—
So they say.
So let it be—
Come the sorrow, the kiss, the sigh!
They are life, dear life, all three,
And we die.
Worthing, 1899-1901.
LONDON TYPES
(To S. S. P.)
I. BUS-DRIVER
He’s called The General from the brazen craft
And dash with which he sneaks a bit of road
And all its fares; challenged, or chafed, or chaffed,
Back-answers of the newest he’ll explode;
He reins his horses with an air; he treats
With scoffing calm whatever powers there be;
He gets it straight, puts a bit on, and meets
His losses with both lip and £ s. d.;
He arrogates a special taste in short;
Is loftily grateful for a flagrant smoke;
At all the smarter housemaids winks his court,
And taps them for half-crowns; being stoney-broke,
Lives lustily; is ever on the make;
And hath, I fear, none other gods but Fake.