Where the ocean had sprayed our banquet I stood, to recall it as then: The same eluding again! No vision. Shows contingent Affrighted it further from me Even than from my home-den. When I found them no responders, But fugitives prone to flee From where they had used to be, It vouched I had been led hither As by night wisps in bogland, And bruised the heart of me! AFTER A ROMANTIC DAY THE railway bore him through An earthen cutting out from a city: There was no scope for view, Though the frail light shed by a slim young moon Fell like a friendly tune. Fell like a liquid ditty, And the blank lack of any charm Of landscape did no harm. The bald steep cutting, rigid, rough, And moon-lit, was enough For poetry of place: its weathered face Formed a convenient sheet whereon The visions of his mind were drawn. THE TWO WIVES (SMOKER’S CLUB-STORY) I WAITED at home all the while they were boating together— My wife and my near neighbour’s wife: Till there entered a woman I loved more than life, And we sat and sat on, and beheld the uprising dark weather, With a sense that some mischief was rife. Tidings came that the boat had capsized, and that one of the ladies Was drowned—which of them was unknown: And I marvelled—my friend’s wife?—or was it my own Who had gone in such wise to the land where the sun as the shade is? —We learnt it was _his_ had so gone. Then I cried in unrest: “He is free! But no good is releasing To him as it would be to me!” “—But it is,” said the woman I loved, quietly. “How?” I asked her. “—Because he has long loved me too without ceasing, And it’s just the same thing, don’t you see.” “I KNEW A LADY” (CLUB SONG) I KNEW a lady when the days Grew long, and evenings goldened; But I was not emboldened By her prompt eyes and winning ways. And when old Winter nipt the haws, “Another’s wife I’ll be, And then you’ll care for me,” She said, “and think how sweet I was!” And soon she shone as another’s wife: As such I often met her, And sighed, “How I regret her! My folly cuts me like a knife!” And then, to-day, her husband came, And moaned, “Why did you flout her? Well could I do without her! For both our burdens you are to blame!” A HOUSE WITH A HISTORY THERE is a house in a city street Some past ones made their own; Its floors were criss-crossed by their feet, And their babblings beat From ceiling to white hearth-stone. And who are peopling its parlours now? Who talk across its floor? Mere freshlings are they, blank of brow, Who read not how Its prime had passed before