Shall we burn up, tread that face at once Into tinder, And so hinder Sparks from kindling all the place at once? Or else kiss away one's soul on her? Your love-fancies! --A sick man sees Truer, when his hot eyes roll on her! 60 Thus the craftsman thinks to grace the rose,-- Plucks a mould-flower For his gold flower, Uses fine things that efface the rose. Rosy rubies make its cup more rose. Precious metals Ape the petals,-- Last, some old king locks it up, morose! Then how grace a rose? I know a way! Leave it, rather. 70 Must you gather? Smell, kiss, wear it--at last, throw away. * * * * * YOUTH AND ART It once might have been, once only: We lodged in a street together, You, a sparrow on the housetop lonely, I, a lone she-bird of his feather. Your trade was with sticks and clay, You thumbed, thrust, patted, and polished, Then laughed "They will see some day, Smith made, and Gibson deg. demolished." deg.8 My business was song, song, song; I chirped, cheeped, trilled, and twittered, 10 "Kate Brown's on the boards ere long, And Grisi's deg. existence embittered!" deg.12 I earned no more by a warble Than you by a sketch in plaster; You wanted a piece of marble, I needed a music-master. We studied hard in our styles, Chipped each at a crust like Hindoos, deg. deg.18 For air, looked out on the tiles, For fun, watched each other's windows. 20 You lounged, like a boy of the South, Cap and blouse--nay, a bit of beard too; Or you got it, rubbing your mouth With fingers the clay adhered to. And I--soon managed to find Weak points in the flower-fence facing, Was forced to put up a blind And be safe in my corset-lacing. No harm! It was not my fault If you never turned your eye's tail up 30 As I shook upon E _in alt_, Or ran the chromatic scale up: For spring bade the sparrows pair. And the boys and girls gave guesses, And stalls in our street looked rare With bulrush and watercresses. Why did not you pinch a flower In a pellet of clay and fling it? Why did not I put a power Of thanks in a look or sing it? 40 I did look, sharp as a lynx, (And yet the memory rankles) When models arrived, some minx Tripped up stairs, she and her ankles. But I think I gave you as good! "That foreign fellow,--who can know How she pays, in a playful mood, For his tuning her that piano?" Could you say so, and never say "Suppose we join hands and fortunes, 50 And I fetch her from over the way, Her, piano, and long tunes and short tunes?"