the home book of verse-4-第7部分
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Is singularly feminine。
Her reasoning is full of tricks；
And butterfly suggestions；
I know no point to which she sticks；
She begs the simplest questions；
And； when her premises are strong；
She always draws her inference wrong。
Broad； liberal views on men and things
She will not hear a word of；
To prove herself correct she brings
Some instance she has heard of；
The argument ad hominem
Appears her favorite strategem。
Old Socrates； with sage replies
To questions put to suit him；
Would not； I think； have looked so wise
With Lesbia to confute him；
He would more probably have bade
Xantippe hasten to his aid。
Ah！ well； my fair philosopher；
With clear brown eyes that glisten
So sweetly； that I much prefer
To look at them than listen；
Preach me your sermon： have your way；
The voice is yours； whate'er you say。
Alfred Cochrane ＇1865…
TO ANTHEA； WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING
（New Style）
Am I sincere？ I say I dote
On everything that Browning wrote；
I know some bits by heart to quote：
But then She reads him。
I say … and is it strictly true？ …
How I admire her cockatoo；
Well！ in a way of course I do：
But then She feeds him。
And I become； at her command；
The sternest Tory in the land；
The Grand Old Man is far from grand；
But then She states it。
Nay！ worse than that； I am so tame；
I once admitted … to my shame …
That football was a brutal game：
Because She hates it。
My taste in Art she hailed with groans；
And I； once charmed with bolder tones；
Now love the yellows of Burne…Jones：
But then She likes them。
My tuneful soul no longer hoards
Stray jewels from the Empire boards；
I revel now in Dvorak's chords：
But then She strikes them。
Our age distinctly cramps a knight；
Yet； though debarred from tilt and fight；
I can admit that black is white；
If She asserts it。
Heroes of old were luckier men
Than I … I venture now and then
To hint … retracting meekly when
She controverts it。
Alfred Cochrane ＇1865…
THE EIGHT…DAY CLOCK
The days of Bute and Grafton's fame；
Of Chatham's waning prime；
First heard your sounding gong proclaim
Its chronicle of Time；
Old days when Dodd confessed his guilt；
When Goldsmith drave his quill；
And genial gossip Horace built
His house on Strawberry Hill。
Now with a grave unmeaning face
You still repeat the tale；
High…towering in your somber case；
Designed by Chippendale；
Without regret for what is gone；
You bid old customs change；
As year by year you travel on
To scenes and voices strange。
We might have mingled with the crowd
Of courtiers in this hall；
The fans that swayed； the wigs that bowed；
But you have spoiled it all；
We might have lingered in the train
Of nymphs that Reynolds drew；
Or stared spell…bound in Drury Lane
At Garrick … but for you。
We might in Leicester Fields have swelled
The throng of beaux and cits；
Or listened to the concourse held
Among the Kitcat wits；
Have strolled with Selwyn in Pall Mall；
Arrayed in gorgeous silks；
Or in Great George Street raised a yell
For Liberty and Wilkes。
This is the life which you have known；
Which you have ticked away；
In one unmoved unfaltering tone
That ceased not day by day；
While ever round your dial moved
Your hands from span to span；
Through drowsy hours and hours that proved
Big with the fate of man。
A steady tick for fatal creeds；
For youth on folly bent；
A steady tick for worthy deeds；
And moments wisely spent；
No warning note of emphasis；
No whisper of advice；
To ruined rake or flippant miss；
For coquetry or dice。
You might； I think； have hammered out
With meaning doubly dear；
The midnight of a Vauxhall rout
In Evelina's ear；
Or when the night was almost gone；
You might； the deals between；
Have startled those who looked upon
The cloth when it was green。
But no； in all the vanished years
Down which your wheels have run；
Your message borne to heedless ears
Is one and only one …
No wit of men； no power of kings；
Can stem the overthrow
Wrought by this pendulum that swings
Sedately to and fro。
Alfred Cochrane ＇1865…
A PORTRAIT
In sunny girlhood's vernal life
She caused no small sensation；
But now the modest English wife
To others leaves flirtation。
She's young still； lovely； debonair；
Although sometimes her features
Are clouded by a thought of care
For those two tiny creatures。
Each tiny； toddling； mottled mite
Asserts with voice emphatic；
In lisping accents； 〃Mite is right；〃
Their rule is autocratic：
The song becomes； that charmed mankind；
Their musical narcotic；
And baby lips than Love； she'll find；
Are even more despotic。
Soft lullaby when singing there；
And castles ever building；
Their destiny she'll carve in air；
Bright with maternal gilding：
Young Guy； a clever advocate；
So eloquent and able！
A powdered wig upon his pate；
A coronet for Mabel！
Joseph Ashby…Sterry ＇1838…1917＇
〃OLD BOOKS ARE BEST〃
Old Books are best！ With what delight
Does 〃Faithorne fecit〃 greet our sight
On frontispiece or title…page
Of that old time； when on the stage
〃Sweet Nell〃 set 〃Rowley's〃 heart alight！
And you； O Friend； to whom I write；
Must not deny； e'en though you might；
Through fear of modern pirates' rage；
Old Books are best。
What though the print be not so bright；
The paper dark； the binding slight？
Our author； be he dull or sage；
Returning from that distant age
So lives again； we say of right：
Old Books are best。
Beverly Chew ＇1850…1924＇
IMPRESSION
In these restrained and careful times
Our knowledge petrifies our rhymes；
Ah！ for that reckless fire men had
When it was witty to be mad；
When wild conceits were piled in scores；
And lit by flaming metaphors；
When all was crazed and out of tune； …
Yet throbbed with music of the moon。
If we could dare to write as ill
As some whose voices haunt us still；
Even we； perchance； might call our own
Their deep enchanting undertone。
We are too diffident and nice；
Too learned and too over…wise；
Too much afraid of faults to be
The flutes of bold sincerity。
For； as this sweet life passes by；
We blink and nod with critic eye；
We've no words rude enough to give
Its charm so frank and fugitive。
The green and scarlet of the Park；
The undulating streets at dark；
The brown smoke blown across the blue；
This colored city we walk through； …
The pallid faces full of pain；
The field…smell of the passing wain；
The laughter； longing； perfume； strife；
The daily spectacle of life； …
Ah！ how shall this be given to rhyme；
By rhymesters of a knowing time？
Ah！ for the age when verse was clad；
Being godlike； to be bad and mad。
Edmund Gosse ＇1849…1928＇
〃WITH STRAWBERRIES〃
With strawberries we filled a tray；
And then we drove away； away
Along the links beside the sea；
Where wave and wind were light and free；
And August felt as fresh as May；
And where the springy turf was gay
With thyme and balm and many a spray
Of wild roses； you tempted me
With strawberries！
A shadowy sail； silent and gray；
Stole like a ghost across the bay；
But none could hear me ask my fee；
And none could know what came to be。
Can sweethearts all their thirst allay
With strawberries？
William Ernest Henley ＇1849…1903＇
BALLADE OF LADIES' NAMES
Brown's for Lalage； Jones for Lelia；
Robinson's bosom for Beatrice glows；
Smith is a Hamlet before Ophelia。
The glamor stays if the reason goes！
Every lover the years disclose
Is of a beautiful name made free。
One befriends； and all others are foes。
Anna's the name of names for me。
Sentiment hallows the vowels of Delia；
Sweet simplicity breathes from Rose；
Courtly memories glitter in Celia；
Rosalind savors of quips and hose；
Araminta of wits and beaux；
Prue of puddings； and Coralie
All of sawdust and spangled shows；
Anna's the name of names for me。
Fie upon Caroline； Madge； Amelia …
These I reckon the essence of prose！ …
Cavalier Katherine； cold Cornelia；
Portia's masterful Roman nose；
Maud's magnificence； Totty's toes；
Poll and Bet with their twang of the sea；
Nell's impertinence； Pamela's woes！
Anna's the name of names for me。
ENVOY
Ruth like a gillyflower smells and blows；
Sylvia prattles of Arcadee；
Sybil mystifies； Connie crows；
Anna's the name of names for me！
William Ernest Henley ＇1849…1903＇
TO A PAIR OF EGYPTIAN SLIPPERS
Tiny slippers of gold and green；
Tied with a mouldering golden cord！
What pretty feet they must have been
When Caesar Augustus was Egypt's lord！
Somebody graceful and fair you were！
Not many girls could dance in these！
When did your shoemaker make you； dear；
Such a nice pair of Egyptian 〃threes〃？
Where were you measured？ In Sais； or On；
Memphis； or Thebes； or Pelusium？
Fitting them neatly your brown toes upon；
Lacing them deftly with finger and thumb；
I seem to see you！ … so long ago；
Twenty…one centuries； less or more！
And here are your sandals： yet none of us know
What name； or fortune； or face you bore。
Your lips would have laughed； with a rosy scorn；
If the merchant； or slave…girl； had mockingly said；
〃The feet will pass； but the shoes they have worn
Two thousand years onward Time's road shall tread；
And still be footgear as good as new！〃
To think that calf…skin； gilded and stitched；
Should Rome and the Pharaohs outlive … and you
Be gone； like a dream； from the world you bewitched！
Not that we mourn you！ 'Twere too absurd！
You have been such a very long while away！
Your dry spiced dust would not value one word
Of the soft regrets that my verse could say。
Sorrow and Pleas
