Ds Aliter Visum; Or, Le Byron De Nos Jours

I.     Stop, let me have the truth of that!     Is that all true? I say, the day     Ten years ago when both of us     Met on a morning, friends as thus     We meet this evening, friends or what? II.     Did you because I took your arm     And sillily smiled, A mass of brass     That sea looks, blazing underneath!     While up the cliff-road edged with heath,     We took the turns nor came to harm III.     Did you consider Now makes twice     That I have seen her, walked and talked     With this poor pretty thoughtful thing,     Whose worth I weigh: she tries to sing;     Draws, hopes in time the eye grows nice; IV.     Reads verse and thinks she understands;     Loves all, at any rate, thats great,     Good, beautiful; but much as we     Down at the bath-house love the sea,     Who breathe its salt and bruise its sands: V.     While . . . do but follow the fishing-gull     That flaps and floats from wave to cave!     Theres the sea-lover, fair my friend!     What then? Be patient, mark and mend!     Had you the making of your scull? VI.     And did you, when we faced the church     With spire and sad slate roof, aloof     From human fellowship so far,     Where a few graveyard crosses are,     And garlands for the swallows perch, VII.     Did you determine, as we stepped     Oer the lone stone fence, Let me get     Her for myself, and whats the earth     With all its art, verse, music, worth     Compared with love, found, gained, and kept? VIII.     Schumanns our music-maker now;     Has his march-movement youth and mouth?     Ingress the modern man that paints;     Which will lean on me, of his saints?     Heine for songs; for kisses, how? IX.     And did you, when we entered, reached     The votive frigate, soft aloft     Riding on air this hundred years,     Safe-smiling at old hopes and fears,     Did you draw profit while she preached? X.     Resolving, Fools we wise men grow!     Yes, I could easily blurt out curt     Some question that might find reply     As prompt in her stopped lips, dropped eye,     And rush of red to cheek and brow: XI.     Thus were a match made, sure and fast,     Mid the blue weed-flowers round the mound     Where, issuing, we shall stand and stay     For one more look at baths and bay,     Sands, sea-gulls, and the old church last XII.     A match twixt me, bent, wigged and lamed,     Famous, however, for verse and worse,     Sure of the Fortieth spare Arm-chair     When gout and glory seat me there,     So, one whose love-freaks pass unblamed, XIII.     And this young beauty, round and sound     As a mountain-apple, youth and truth     With loves and doves, at all events     With money in the Three per Cents;     Whose choice of me would seem profound: XIV.     She might take me as I take her.     Perfect the hour would pass, alas!     Climb high, love high, what matter? Still,     Feet, feelings, must descend the hill:     An hours perfection cant recur. XV.     Then follows Paris and full time     For both to reason: Thus with us!     Shell sigh, Thus girls give body and soul     At first word, think they gain the goal,     When t is the starting-place they climb! XVI.     My friend makes verse and gets renown;     Have they all fifty years, his peers?     He knows the world, firm, quiet and gay;     Boys will become as much one day:     Theyre fools; he cheats, with beard less brown. XVII.     For boys say, Love one or I die!     He did not say, The truth is, youth     I want, who am old and know too much;     Id catch youth: lend one sight and touch!     Drop hearts blood where lifes wheels grate dry! XVIII.     While I should make rejoinder (then     It was, no doubt, you ceased that least     Light pressure of my arm in yours)     I can conceive of cheaper cures     For a yawning-fit oer books and men. XIX.     What? All I am, was, and might be,     All, books taught, art brought, lifes whole strife,     Painful results since precious, just     Were fitly exchanged, in wise disgust,     For two cheeks freshened by youth and sea? XX.     All for a nosegay! what came first;     With fields on flower, untried each side;     I rally, need my books and men,     And find a nosegay: drop it, then,     No match yet made for best or worst! XXI.     That ended me. You judged the porch     We left by, Norman; took our look     At sea and sky; wondered so few     Find out the place for air and view;     Remarked the sun began to scorch; XXII.     Descended, soon regained the baths,     And then, good-bye! Years ten since then:     Ten years! We meet: you tell me, now,     By a window-seat for that cliff-brow,     On carpet-stripes for those sand-paths. XXIII.     Now I may speak: you fool, for all     Your lore! WHO made things plain in vain?     What was the sea for? What, the grey     Sad church, that solitary day,     Crosses and graves and swallows call? XXIV.     Was there nought better than to enjoy?     No feat which, done, would make time break     And let us pent-up creatures through     Into eternity, our due?     No forcing earth teach heavens employ? XXV.     No wise beginning, here and now,     What cannot grow complete (earths feat)     And heaven must finish, there and then?     No tasting earths true food for men,     Its sweet in sad, its sad in sweet? XXVI.     No grasping at love, gaining a share     O the sole spark from Gods life at strife     With death, so, sure of range above     The limits here? For us and love,     Failure; but, when God fails, despair. XXVII.     This you call wisdom? Thus you add     Good unto good again, in vain?     You loved, with body worn and weak;     I loved, with faculties to seek:     Were both loves worthless since ill-clad? XXVIII.     Let the mere star-fish in his vault     Crawl in a wash of weed, indeed,     Rose-jacynth to the finger-tips:     He, whole in body and soul, outstrips     Man, found with either in default. XXIX.     But whats whole, can increase no more,     Is dwarfed and dies, since heres its sphere.     The devil laughed at you in his sleeve!     You knew not? That I well believe;     Or you had saved two souls: nay, four. XXX.     For Stephanie sprained last night her wrist,     Ankle or something. Pooh, cry you?     At any rate she danced, all say,     Vilely; her vogue has had its day.     Here comes my husband from his whist.