YET.(AFTER F. E. W.)  
Sing me a drawing-room song, darling!
Sing by the sunset's glow;
Now while the shadows are long, darling;
Now while the lights are low;
Something so chaste and so coy, darling!
Something that melts the chest;
Milder than even Molloy, darling!
Better than Bingham's best.  
Sing me a drawing-room song, darling!
Sing as you sang of yore,
Lisping of love that is strong, darling!
Strong as a big barn-door;
Let the true knight be bold, darling!
Let him arrive too late;
Stick in a bower of gold, darling!
Stick in a golden gate.  
Sing me a drawing-room song, darling!
Bear on the angels' wings
Children that know no wrong, darling!
Little cherubic things!
Sing of their sunny hair, darling!
Get them to die in June;
Wake, if you can, on the stair, darling!
Echoes of tiny shoon.  
Sing me a drawing-room song, darling!
Sentiment may be false,
Yet it will worry along, darling!
Set to a tum-tum valse;
See that the verses are few, darling!
Keep to the rule of three;
That will be better for you, darling!
Certainly better for me.

ELEGI MUSARUM.(AFTER W. W.)[To Mr. St. Loe Strachey.]  
Dawn of the year that emerges, a fine and ebullient Phoenix,
Forth from the cinders of Self, out of the ash of the Past;
Year that discovers my Muse in the thick of purpureal sonnets,
Slating diplomacy's sloth, blushing for 'Abdul the d----d';
Year that in guise of a herald declaring the close of the tourney

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