Volume 146 — COMMERCIAL ART.

Across the sundering gulf of time I lift a song to you, Melodious as a minster chime, Loud, I expect, as two. Years have flown swiftly since we met; Do you, remembered one, forget The rapturous moment and sublime When I drew near to you? I bet A half-a-crown you do. Your name I never learned—Hélène, Beryl, perhaps Marie, Phyllis, Estelle, or merely Jane— It makes no odds to me. I hymn you, maiden, none the less; I toil in rhyme and metre; yes, From noon till eve I bear the pain Of this prolonged poetic stress (With half-an-hour for tea). Carrots your hair was (i.e., red; "Carrots" is just my fun); Blue were your eyes, and from them sped A gleam that mocked the sun— I think that's so, but, as I say, Time has moved quickly since that day, And few, too few, the words we said When languidly, as beauty may, You handed me a bun. Calmly you took it from the place Where it was used to sit, And I can still recall the grace With which you dusted it. I paid you, and we parted; so Life's rich adventures come and go! And did that brief glimpse of your face Set love within me surging? No, It didn't. Not a bit. I only sing because I must; Not mine the fret, the throb Of fevered passion; verse is just My livelihood, or job. Searching for themes, I had a clear, Swift vision of your dial; queer How such things happen, but I trust These lines will bring me in, my dear, £1 or 30s.