Part 76

No Katy unruly But Katherine, truly - Fond, serious, patient, and even sedate; With a glow in her gladness That banishes sadness - Yet stay! Should I credit the sunshine to Kate?

Love cannot outlive it, Wealth cannot o'ergive it - The saucy surrender she made at the gate. O Time, be but human, Spare the girl in the woman! You gave me my Katherine - leave me my Kate!

Robert Underwood Johnson [1853-

GROWING OLD

Sweet sixteen is shy and cold, Calls me "sir," and thinks me old; Hears in an embarrassed way All the compliments I pay;

Finds my homage quite a bore, Will not smile on me, and more To her taste she finds the noise And the chat of callow boys.

Not the lines around my eye, Deepening as the years go by; Not white hairs that strew my head, Nor my less elastic tread;

Cares I find, nor joys I miss, Make me feel my years like this: - Sweet sixteen is shy and cold, Calls me "sir," and thinks me old.

Walter Learned [1847-1915]

TIME'S REVENGE

When I was ten and she fifteen - Ah, me! how fair I thought her. She treated with disdainful mien The homage that I brought her, And, in a patronizing way, Would of my shy advances say: "It's really quite absurd, you see; He's very much too young for me."

I'm twenty now, she twenty-five - Well, well! how old she's growing. I fancy that my suit might thrive If pressed again; but, owing To great discrepancy in age, Her marked attentions don't engage My young affections, for, you see, She's really quite too old for me.

Walter Learned [1847-1915]

IN EXPLANATION

Her lips were so near That - what else could I do? You'll be angry, I fear. But her lips were so near - Well, I can't make it clear, Or explain it to you. But - her lips were so near That - what else could I do?

Walter Learned [1847-1915]

OMNIA VINCIT

Long from the lists of love I stood aloof My heart was steeled and I was beauty-proof; Yet I, unscathed in many a peril past, Lo! here am I defeated at the last.

My practice was, in easy-chair reclined, Superior-wise to speak of womankind, Waving away the worn-out creed of love To join the smoke that wreathed itself above.

Love, I said in my wisdom, Love is dead, For all his fabled triumphs - and instead We find a calm affectionate respect, Doled forth by Intellect to Intellect.

Yet when Love, taking vengeance, smote me sore, My Siren called me from no classic shore; It was no Girton trumpet that laid low The walls of this Platonic Jericho.

For when my peace of mind at length was stole, I thought no whit of Intellect or Soul, Nay! I was cast in pitiful distress By brown eyes wide with truth and tenderness.

Alfred Cochrane [1865-

A PASTORAL

Along the lane beside the mead Where cowslip-gold is in the grass I matched the milkmaid's easy speed, A tall and springing country lass: But though she had a merry plan To shield her from my soft replies, Love played at Catch-me-if-you-Can In Mary's eyes.

A mile or twain from Varley bridge I plucked a dock-leaf for a fan, And drove away the constant midge, And cooled her forehead's strip of tan. But though the maiden would not spare My hand her pretty finger-tips, Love played at Kiss-me-if-you-Dare On Mary's lips.

Since time was short and blood was bold, I drew me closer to her side, And watched her freckles change from gold To pink beneath a blushing tide. But though she turned her face away, How much her panting heart confessed! Love played at Find-me-for-you-May In Mary's breast.

Norman Gale [1862-