In his broad face, tanned and bloodless, White and wild his eyeballs glisten; And his smile, occult and tragic, Yet so slavish, makes you shudder! XXV APPARITION THIN-LEGGED, thin-chested, slight unspeakably, Neat-footed and weak-fingered: in his face— Lean, large-boned, curved of beak, and touched with race, Bold-lipped, rich-tinted, mutable as the sea, The brown eyes radiant with vivacity— There shines a brilliant and romantic grace, A spirit intense and rare, with trace on trace Of passion and impudence and energy. Valiant in velvet, light in ragged luck, Most vain, most generous, sternly critical, Buffoon and poet, lover and sensualist: A deal of Ariel, just a streak of Puck, Much Antony, of Hamlet most of all, And something of the Shorter-Catechist. XXVI ANTEROTICS LAUGHS the happy April morn Thro’ my grimy, little window, And a shaft of sunshine pushes Thro’ the shadows in the square. Dogs are tracing thro’ the grass, Crows are cawing round the chimneys, In and out among the washing Goes the West at hide-and-seek. Loud and cheerful clangs the bell. Here the nurses troop to breakfast. Handsome, ugly, all are women . . . O, the Spring—the Spring—the Spring! XXVII NOCTURN AT the barren heart of midnight, When the shadow shuts and opens As the loud flames pulse and flutter, I can hear a cistern leaking. Dripping, dropping, in a rhythm, Rough, unequal, half-melodious, Like the measures aped from nature In the infancy of music; Like the buzzing of an insect, Still, irrational, persistent . . . I must listen, listen, listen In a passion of attention; Till it taps upon my heartstrings, And my very life goes dripping, Dropping, dripping, drip-drip-dropping, In the drip-drop of the cistern. XXVIII DISCHARGED CARRY me out Into the wind and the sunshine, Into the beautiful world. O, the wonder, the spell of the streets! The stature and strength of the horses, The rustle and echo of footfalls, The flat roar and rattle of wheels! A swift tram floats huge on us . . . It’s a dream? The smell of the mud in my nostrils Blows brave—like a breath of the sea! As of old, Ambulant, undulant drapery, Vaguery and strangely provocative, Fluttersd and beckons. O, yonder— Is it?—the gleam of a stocking! Sudden, a spire Wedged in the mist! O, the houses, The long lines of lofty, grey houses, Cross-hatched with shadow and light! These are the streets . . . Each is an avenue leading Whither I will! Free . . . ! Dizzy, hysterical, faint, I sit, and the carriage rolls on with me Into the wonderful world. THE OLD INFIRMARY, EDINBURGH, 1873–75 ENVOY _To_ CHARLES BAXTER