Time's a tennis-play? thank you, no, fives!

[Pg 386]

XXIII

"'Stop life's ball then!' Such folly! melt earth down for that,

Till the pure ore eludes you and leaves you raw scoriæ?

Pish, the vein's wrong!" But you, friends—come, what were you at

When God spat you out suddenly? what was the story He

Cut short thus, the growth He laid flat?

XXIV

Wait! the crab's twice alive, mark! Oh, worthy, your soul,

Of strange ends, great results, novel labours! Take note,

I reject this for one! (ay, now, straight to the hole!

Safe in sand there—your skirts smooth out all as they float!)

I, shirk drinking through flaws in the bowl?

XXV

Or suppose now that rock's cleft—grim, scored to the quick,

As a man's face kept fighting all life through gets scored,

Mossed and marked with grey purulent leprosies, sick,

Flat and foul as man's life here (be swift with your sword—

Cut the soul out, stuck fast where thorns prick!)

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