WAITING FOR THE CALL.

Though to-day may groan ’neath its weight of care, and the sun be a raven’s wing That darkens the faces of children fair and saddens the songs they sing; I know it will change at the faintest touch from the hand of a God-sent Spring! And I know, though the desert be grim and grey, and its life be a Lethe’s pond Whose waters of indolence hold alway the spirits of men in bond, Full well there is room for a strenuous life in the Land that is Just Beyond. Thus we wait for the touch of a magic string and a glance of a love-lit eye: For a breath from some spirit awakening that passes us clearly by: —We legion of dreamers that drift and live, and dabble and drink—and die.

When I tramp forth attended by A retinue of “blues,” And all the world and all its wife Are clothed in sombre hues, Then life holds nothing much to win, And nothing much to lose. ’Tis little use to preach and pray, And none to fume and fret— No solace dwells within the days Of love and lush and debt— ’Tis then I throw the bundle off And light a cigarette. And seeking, so, some mental perch Upon some mental crag, I straightway run the colours up Of self-assertion’s flag, Assume a tragic air, and thus Apostrophise the swag: “You’ve tarried closer far than friends, And closer too than foes; You’re with me when the autumn falls, And with the first spring rose; Though whence such fond affection comes The Devil only knows. “You’ve driven me along the track Like mankind’s primal curse; You’ve driven me—behold the proof!— To scrawling slipshod verse; And every wrinkle in your face Denotes an empty purse. “I know you well from stem to stern, From centrepiece to rim; For many, many years ago You cost a modest ‘jim’— Those years, those sun-tipped years! that now Live with the seraphim. “Since then I’ve marched the dusty way That better feet have trod, But always found, my bride! in you, An unresponsive clod; Until we two have grown alike As peas within a pod. “And yet to flirt with you I left A woman passing fair (A pleasant girl who had for me A smile or two to spare), A half-a-dozen quid a week, A couch and easy chair. “I left——” But, ah! a wintry wind Awakes Matilda’s charms: I calmly spread the old girl out And snuggle in her arms— Untouched by sighs or sentiment, Unscathed by love’s alarms.