Sometimes it leaps to clutch the curb When I walk down the street-- Oh, how I suffer for the hope That lives within my feet! Myself, I can endure the drouth With stoic calm, and prayer-- But my feet still seek a railing When a railing isn't there. XIV--ONCE YOUTH WAS MINE To Frank Stanton Once the wild raptures and the beating wings Of Song were mine, the sun, the climbing flight; The wind's great fellowship upon the height. . . . Once Youth was mine, and the young heart that sings! But now the little things, the trivial things, Beat down my spirit with their leagued might . . . Could I, within some friendly Dive to-night, Meet the Old Gang, 'twould make me young, by jings! As the mad lark rises, drunk with joy and sun, When morning bends above the dewy meadow, And his clear call proclaims: “The day is won!” Over a hurried rout of driven shadow, So should I rise and sing, had I a Bun. O would that we were soused together, Kiddo! XV--IN A TAVERN BOOTH To Bob Lillard Out of my forehead now the long thoughts reach In level rays that melt the Pleiades, Which, melting, somehow smell like toasted cheese . . . I know Life's secret now, but have no speech To utter it: indeed, small wish to teach My truths to trivial planets such as these Whereon the populations drone like bees That have no honey-gift, each stinging each . . . And yet I will speak, too!... the slow words come With pain out of my deeps of ecstasy, Burst from my soul as from a beaten drum In a hoarse pulse of sound . . . But hark to me! “Life's secret is that all things cool somewhat Like golden bucks”...but, somehow, that seems rot. XVI--AN ENGAGEMENT To Kit Morley There is a place, not far from Gissing Street, In Paradise, where one can dream and laugh You go through Shelley Lane, striking your staff Upon the cobbles, turn with eager feet Down Benêt Place, and there you are! I'll meet You, Christopher, and we shall quarrel and quaff Our pewter tankards full of Shandygaff, And eat and eat and eat and eat and eat! And must we die first? Well, it's worth the trouble I shall go first, because I'm old and gray, And permanently I'll reserve a booth-- And when you come, no doubt I'll see you double, And as you land from Charon's skiff I'll say: “Here, kid, taste this! Roll this upon your tooth!' XVII--THE BATTLE OF THE KEYHOLES To Jimmy Farnsworth The keyholes to the right of me Were dancing of a jig, The keyholes to the left of me Were merry as a grig, The keyholes right before my face Were drunk and winked at me, And I stood there alone--alone!-- With one small key.