I know not when the day shall be, I know not when we two shall part; What farewell you will give to me, Or will your words be sweet or tart? It may not be till years have passed, Till France grows calm, young ABBAS grey; But I am pledged--so, love, at last, Our hands, our hearts must part--_some day_! Some day, some day, Some day I shall leave you! Love, I know not when or how, (So I can but vaguely vow) Only this, only this, (Which I trust won't grieve you), Only this--I _can't_ go now, I can't _go_ now, I can't go _Now_! I know not if 'tis far or near, Some six months' hence, while we both live; I know not who the blame shall bear, Or who protest, or who forgive; But when we part, some day, some day, France, fairer grown, the truth may see, And all those clouds be rolled away That darken love 'twixt her and me. Some day, some day, Some day I must leave you! Lawks! I know not when or how, (Though the Powers kick up a row), Only this, only this, (Which I won't deceive you), Only this--I can't go _now_, I shan't go _now_, I won't go _Now_! * * * * * IS SCIENCE PLAYED OUT? ["In a grain of butter you have 47,250,000 microbes. When you eat a slice of bread-and-butter, you therefore must swallow as many microbes as there are people in Europe."--"Science Notes" in _Daily Chronicle_.] Charlotte, eating bread-and-butter, Read this Note with horror utter, And (assisted by the cutter) Went on eating bread-and-butter! Man will say--with due apology To alarmed Bacteriology-- Spite of menacing bacilli, Man _must_ eat, friend, willy-nilly! And where _shall_ he find due foison If e'en bread-and-butter's poison? Science told our amorous Misses Death may be conveyed _in kisses_; But it did not keep the nation From promiscuous osculation. Now it warneth the "Young Person" (Whom GRANT ALLEN voids his curse on) "Bread-and-butter Misses" even In _their_ food may find death's leaven! Never mind how this is made out! Science--as a Bogey's--played out. Spite all warnings it may utter, Women _will_ have Bread-and-Butter! * * * * * OUT OF WORK. (_After reading "Outcast London" by the Daily Chronicle's Special Commissioner at the East End._)