Oh, is it, then, Utopian To hope that I may meet a man Who'll not relate, in accents suave, The tales of girls he used to have? _They Part_ And if, my friend, you'd have it end, There's naught to hear or tell. But need you try to black my eye In wishing me farewell? Though I admit an edgèd wit In woe is warranted. May I be frank? ... Such words as "----" Are better left unsaid. There's rosemary for you and me; But is it usual, dear. To hire a man, and fill a van By way of _souvenir_? _Ballade of a Great Weariness_ There's little to have but the things I had, There's little to bear but the things I bore. There's nothing to carry and naught to add, And glory to Heaven, I paid the score. There's little to do but I did before, There's little to learn but the things I know; And this is the sum of a lasting lore: Scratch a lover, and find a foe. And couldn't it be I was young and mad If ever my heart on my sleeve I wore? There's many to claw at a heart unclad, And little the wonder it ripped and tore. There's one that'll join in their push and roar, With stories to jabber, and stones to throw; He'll fetch you a lesson that costs you sore-- Scratch a lover, and find a foe. So little I'll offer to you, my lad; It's little in loving I set my store. There's many a maid would be flushed and glad, And better you'll knock at a kindlier door. I'll dig at my lettuce, and sweep my floor-- Forever, forever I'm done with woe-- And happen I'll whistle about my chore, "Scratch a lover and find a foe." L'ENVOI: Oh, beggar or prince, no more, no more! Be off and away with your strut and show. The sweeter the apple, the blacker the core-- Scratch a lover, and find a foe! _Résumé_ Razors pain you; Rivers are damp; Acids stain you; And drugs cause cramp. Guns aren't lawful; Nooses give; Gas smells awful; You might as well live. _Renunciation_ Chloe's hair, no doubt, was brighter; Lydia's mouth more sweetly sad; Hebe's arms were rather whiter; Languorous-lidded Helen had Eyes more blue than e'er the sky was Lalage's was subtler stuff; Still, you used to think that I was Fair enough. Now you're casting yearning glances At the pale Penelope; Cutting in on Claudia's dances; Taking Iris out to tea. Iole you find warm-hearted; Zoë's cheek is far from rough,-- Don't you think it's time we parted? ... Fair enough! _Day-Dreams_