Satires of Circumstance Part 2

A THUNDERSTORM IN TOWN (A Reminiscence)

She wore a new "terra-cotta" dress, And we stayed, because of the pelting storm, Within the hansom's dry recess, Though the horse had stopped; yea, motionless We sat on, snug and warm.

Then the downpour ceased, to my sharp sad pain, And the gla.s.s that had screened our forms before Flew up, and out she sprang to her door: I should have kissed her if the rain Had lasted a minute more.

THE TORN LETTER

I

I tore your letter into strips No bigger than the airy feathers That ducks preen out in changing weathers Upon the shifting ripple-tips.

II

In darkness on my bed alone I seemed to see you in a vision, And hear you say: "Why this derision Of one drawn to you, though unknown?"

III

Yes, eve's quick mood had run its course, The night had cooled my hasty madness; I suffered a regretful sadness Which deepened into real remorse.

IV

I thought what pensive patient days A soul must know of grain so tender, How much of good must grace the sender Of such sweet words in such bright phrase.

V

Uprising then, as things unpriced I sought each fragment, patched and mended; The midnight whitened ere I had ended And gathered words I had sacrificed.

VI

But some, alas, of those I threw Were past my search, destroyed for ever: They were your name and place; and never Did I regain those clues to you.

VII

I learnt I had missed, by rash unheed, My track; that, so the Will decided, In life, death, we should be divided, And at the sense I ached indeed.

VIII

That ache for you, born long ago, Throbs on; I never could outgrow it.

What a revenge, did you but know it!

But that, thank G.o.d, you do not know.

BEYOND THE LAST LAMP (Near Tooting Common)

I

While rain, with eve in partnership, Descended darkly, drip, drip, drip, Beyond the last lone lamp I pa.s.sed Walking slowly, whispering sadly, Two linked loiterers, wan, downcast: Some heavy thought constrained each face, And blinded them to time and place.

II

The pair seemed lovers, yet absorbed In mental scenes no longer orbed By love's young rays. Each countenance As it slowly, as it sadly Caught the lamplight's yellow glance Held in suspense a misery At things which had been or might be.

III

When I retrod that watery way Some hours beyond the droop of day, Still I found pacing there the twain Just as slowly, just as sadly, Heedless of the night and rain.

One could but wonder who they were And what wild woe detained them there.

IV

Though thirty years of blur and blot Have slid since I beheld that spot, And saw in curious converse there Moving slowly, moving sadly That mysterious tragic pair, Its olden look may linger on - All but the couple; they have gone.

V

Whither? Who knows, indeed . . . And yet To me, when nights are weird and wet, Without those comrades there at tryst Creeping slowly, creeping sadly, That lone lane does not exist.

There they seem brooding on their pain, And will, while such a lane remain.

THE FACE AT THE CAs.e.m.e.nT

If ever joy leave An abiding sting of sorrow, So befell it on the morrow Of that May eve . . .

The travelled sun dropped To the north-west, low and lower, The pony's trot grew slower, And then we stopped.

"This cosy house just by I must call at for a minute, A sick man lies within it Who soon will die.

"He wished to marry me, So I am bound, when I drive near him, To inquire, if but to cheer him, How he may be."

A message was sent in, And wordlessly we waited, Till some one came and stated The bulletin.

And that the sufferer said, For her call no words could thank her; As his angel he must rank her Till life's spark fled.

Slowly we drove away, When I turned my head, although not Called; why so I turned I know not Even to this day.

And lo, there in my view Pressed against an upper lattice Was a white face, gazing at us As we withdrew.