Volume 100 — DEARNESS AND DEARTH.

I. Will it be long, then—long? For the people watch and wait, Till the strength of the onion makes them strong, At only the normal rate. And their eyes are dim with tears, And ache with the need of sleep. And watch till the lapse of the lapsing years Shall make the onions cheap. Cheap, my love, cheap! Sleep, my love, sleep! Onions are dear, love, but sentiment's cheap! II. Listen! Is it a voice Calling—again—again, Or a fragrance to make my heart rejoice From the sunlit land of Spain? Listen, my own, my bride, While the glad tears dew your cheek, They are fried, my bride, by the sad sea tide With a smell that can almost speak Creep, my love, creep into the deep, And sing to the fishes that onions are cheap.