But the good God smiled as He shook His head; “It’s a troublesome child,” said He, “but yet Not quite so altogether dead As those solemn old fools that laughed. Don’t fret!” At least, I think that’s what He said. TO HIS MAID Since above Time, upon Eternity The lovely essence of true loving’s set, Time shall not triumph over you and me, Nor--though we pay his debt-- Shall Death hold mastery. Your eyes are bright for ever. Your dark hair Holds an eternal shade. Like a bright sword Shall flame the vision of your strange sweet ways, Cleaving the years: and even your smallest word, Lying forgotten with the things that were, Shall glow and kindle, burning up the days. BALLADE OF DAMNABLE THINGS I do not like a horse to throw me off. I do not like the motor-bike to skid. I do not like a nasty hacking cough, Nor influenza. And I never did Enjoy the thought of frizzling on a grid, The while wee flaming devils dance and sing. But short of simple Hell without the lid, I think that jaundice is the damn’dest thing. Fleas, faintness, famine, stomach-ache, the feel Of flies upon your face, rats in your bed; Lice, dusty roads, a blister on your heel, The taste of salts, the scent of things long dead, Home-sickness, chilblains, grief uncomforted, A hollow tooth with cold, a hornet sting:-- These are unpleasant, yet when all is said I think that jaundice is the damn’dest thing. See you the whole bright world before your eye Dwindle as ugly as a wrinkled pea. See Beauty, a pricked bubble: Truth, a lie: Achievement, foam on muddy water. See Yourself a yellow devil suddenly, And all the zest of youth gone journeying-- See you all this, and then you will agree (I think) that jaundice is the damn’dest thing. _Envoi._ Prince of the damned--I ransack my supplies To find a fitting wish at you to fling. Now may you look on Hell through yellow eyes. I think that jaundice is the damn’dest thing. SONG OF HEALTH For friends to stand beside, for foes to fight, For devil’s work to break, for Wrong and Right, And will (however hard) to choose between them: For merry tales, no matter where you glean them: Songs, stars, delight of birds, and summer roses, Sunshine, wherein my friend the dog now dozes: Danger--the zest of life, and Love, the lord Of Life and Death: for every open word Spoken in blame or praise by friend o’ mine To spur me on: for old, good memories, Keeping in my soul’s cellar like good wine: For Truth that’s strong, and Beauty so divine: For animals, and children, and for trees, Both wintry-black and blossoming in white: For homely gardens and for humming bees: For drink, and dreams, and daisies on the sod, Plain food, and fire (when it will light)-- Thank God! GRATITUDE