No More Learning

"The world may say that I have missed;
Ah! no--I am an egoist
Of subtle, fixed design.
My dreams a garden are to me
To which no other holds the key,
I wish to keep them mine.

"All mine--those tender, half-thought things,
Which flutter gossamer rainbow wings
And hover near, near, near.
Why should I catch and pin them down
And lose their beauty for a crown
Would chafe my brows to wear.

"And thus, a baser alchemist
In some perverted plan persist
To turn my gold to dross.
If I turned my gold their soul were sold
Tho' I wore a crown and cloth of gold,
Their soul were then the loss.

"If I sat high, a crowned king,
With lofty brows in a royal ring,
A lustrous diadem,
If I wore the titles 'High, Strong, and Wise,'
And garments stained with purple dyes,
All jewelled at the hem

"With emeralds, rubies and jacinth stones,
Such as great kings wear on their golden thrones,
And a royal mantle of vair,
And held a sceptre in my hand,
Which showed me ruler of all the land,
In my palace, where none might dare

"To cross my word, but all must bow
As the courtly throng are bending now,
And give the King his meed,
And slaves waved forests of peacock fans
And a cry went up like a single man's,
'This is the King indeed. '

"For I could be King and Overlord
In the wondrous realm of the written word,
Am King there . . . in my dreams.
So, loving dreams, this life I choose--
The tramp's with tattered coat and shoes,
Yet happier than it seems.

"Thus, oh! my dreams, you grow not old,
No process dims you, leaves you cold,
Immortal, bright, you come,
And if you come not, I am wise,
I have my trusted old allies,
Tobacco, beer, and rum.
"

His chin sank down upon his breast,
And suddenly the brown bird ceased
To pour her strain abroad.
A sound less sweet to mortal ear
Uprose (had one been there to hear). . . .
It was the tramp who snored.




The Black Dwarf.


Certain it is that of those qualities
We are enamoured which we most do lack.
So he, fantastic out of human guise,
Bent, broken, bowed, small, apish, humped of back,
Marred in the mint, perfection's contrary,
To sweet perfection found his marred life thrall,
And--the great artist without jealousy--
Knew beauty more than all.

Much he loved flowers and their frail loveliness,
But if they pined thro' blight or thirsty want,
Or spiteful wind had made his blossoms less,
Or mouse or mole had gnawed some tender plant,
Then seemed the edge of life all dull and blunt,
And passion thwarted tore his twisted frame,
And, 'neath the penthouse of the shaggy front,
The yellow eyes flashed flame.

But most he joyed whenever country maid,
Prizing his taste, or damsel highly born
To judgment came, and anxiously displayed
For him submission as for others scorn.
Then, peering keenly from his peat-roofed home,
Calm in his power he scanned her as he chose,
And, if she pleased, the swart and twisted gnome
Gave her a white, white rose.




To an Elephant.


Lord of the trunk and fan-like ears,
Wisest and mightiest next to man,
I see thee hence a million years
Ruling the earth with milder plan.
Dwellers above, beneath the ground,
Shall live contented in that time;
No subtle growths shall e'er confound
Their natural joy and instinct prime.

Not such as those who planned to nought
And groped (wise fools!