Brown was my friend, and faithful—but so fat! He came to see me in the twilight dim; I rose politely and invited him To take a seat—how heavily he sat!

He sat upon the sofa, where my hat, My wanton Zephyr, rested on its rim; Its build, unlike my friend’s, was rather slim, And when he rose, I saw it, crushed and flat.

O Hat, that wast the apple of my eye, Thy brim is bent, six cracks are in thy crown, And I shall never wear thee any more; Upon a shelf thy loved remains shall lie, And with the years the dust will settle down On thee, the neatest hat I ever wore!

p. 7A SWINBURNIAN INTERLUDE

p. 7

Short space shall be hereafter Ere April brings the hour Of weeping and of laughter, Of sunshine and of shower, Of groaning and of gladness, Of singing and of sadness, Of melody and madness, Of all sweet things and sour.

Sweet to the blithe bucolic Who knows nor cribs nor crams, Who sees the frisky frolic Of lanky little lambs; p. 8 But sour beyond expression To one in deep depression Who sees the closing session And imminent exams.

p. 8

He cannot hear the singing Of birds upon the bents, Nor watch the wildflowers springing, Nor smell the April scents. He gathers grief with grinding, Foul food of sorrow finding In books of dreary binding And drearier contents.

One hope alone sustains him, And no more hopes beside, One trust alone restrains him From shocking suicide; p. 9 He will not play nor palter With hemlock or with halter, He will not fear nor falter, Whatever chance betide.

p. 9

He knows examinations Like all things else have ends, And then come vast vacations And visits to his friends, And youth with pleasure yoking, And joyfulness and joking, And smilingness and smoking, For grief to make amends.

p. 10SWEETHEART

p. 10

Sweetheart, that thou art fair I know, More fair to me Than flowers that make the loveliest show To tempt the bee.

When other girls, whose faces are, Beside thy face, As rushlights to the evening star, Deny thy grace,

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