And loyal love as sure.

For you the To-come,

But for me the Gone-by, You are panting to live, I am waiting to die; The meadow is empty,

No flower groweth high, And naught but a socket The face of the sky.

Yea, howso we dream,
Or how bravely we do;
The end is the same,

Be we traitor or true : And after the bloom

And the passion is past,
Death cometh at last.

THE PASSIONATE READER TO HIS POET

DоTH it not thrill thee, Poet,

Dead and dust though thou art, To feel how I press thy singing Close to my heart?

Take it at night to my pillow,

Kiss it before I sleep,

And again when the delicate morning
Beginneth to peep?

See how I bathe thy pages

Here in the light of the sun,

Through thy leaves, as a wind among roses, The breezes shall run.

Feel how I take thy poem

And bury within it my face

As I pressed it last night in the heart of a flower,

Or deep in a dearer place.

Think, as I love thee, Poet,

A thousand love beside,
Dear women love to press thee too
Against a sweeter side.

Art thou not happy, Poet?
I sometimes dream that I
For such a fragrant fame as thine
Would gladly sing and die.

Say, wilt thou change thy glory
For this same youth of mine?
And I will give my days i' the sun
For that great song of thine.

66

DANNY DEEVER

WHAT are the bugles blowin' for ?" said Files-on-Parade.

To turn you out, to turn you out," the Color-Sergeant said.

"What makes you look so white, so white?" said Files-on-Parade. "I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch," the Color-Sergeant said.

For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play, The regiment's in 'ollow square they 're hangin' him to-day; They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes away,

An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in

the mornin'.

"What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?" said Files-on-Parade.

"It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold," the Color-Sergeant said.

"What makes that front-rank man fall
down?" says Files-on-Parade.
"A touch o' sun, a touch o' sun," the Color-
Sergeant said.

They are hangin' Danny Deever, they
are marchin' of 'im round,
They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is
coffin on the ground;

An' 'e'll swing in 'arf a minute for
a sneakin' shootin' hound

O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'!

'Is cot was right-'and cot to mine," said Files-on-Parade.

"E's sleepin' out an' far to-night," the Color-Sergeant said.

I've drunk 'is beer a score o' times," said Files-on-Parade.

16 'E's drinkin' bitter beer alone," the ColorSergeant said.

They are hangin' Danny Deever, you
must mark 'im to 'is place,
For 'e shot a comrade sleepin' — you
must look 'im in the face;
Nine 'undred of 'is county an' the reg-
iment's disgrace,

While they're hangin' Danny Deever
in the mornin'.

"What's that so black agin the sun?" said Files-on-Parade.

"It's Danny fightin' 'ard for life," the Color-Sergeant said.

"What's that that whimpers over❜ead?" said Files-on-Parade.

"It's Danny's soul that 's passin' now," the Color-Sergeant said.

For they're done with Danny Deever,
you can 'ear the quickstep play,
The regiment's in column, an' they 're
marchin' us away ;

Ho! the young recruits are shakin',
an' they'll want their beer to-day,
After hangin' Danny Deever in the
mornin'.

'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses,

'E cut our sentries up at Suakim,

An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our forces.

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan;

You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man;

We gives you your certificate, an' if you want it signed

We'll come an' ave a romp with you whenever you're inclined.

We took our chanst among the Kyber 'ills,

The Boers knocked us silly at a mile, The Burman give us Irriwaddy chills,

An' a Zulu impi dished us up in style: But all we ever got from such as they Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller;