To Lallie (Outside the British Museum.)
UP those Museum steps you came,
And straightway all my blood was flame,
O Lallie, Lallie!
The world (I had been feeling low)
In one short moment’s space did grow
A happy valley.
There was a friend, my friend, with you;
A meagre dame in peacock blue
Apparelled quaintly:
This poet-heart went pit-a-pat;
I bowed and smiled and raised my hat;
You nodded—faintly.
My heart was full as full could be;
You had not got a word for me,
Not one short greeting;
That nonchalant small nod you gave
(The tyrant’s motion to the slave)
Sole mark’d our meeting.
Is it so long? Do you forget
That first and last time that we met?
The time was summer.
The trees were green; the sky was blue;
Our host presented me to you—
A tardy comer.
You look’d demure, but when you spoke
You made a little, funny joke,
Yet half pathetic.
Your gown was grey, I recollect,
I think you patronized the sect
They call "æsthetic.”
I brought you strawberries and cream,
And plied you long about a stream
With duckweed laden ;
We solemnly discussed the—heat.
I found you shy and very sweet,
A rosebud maiden.
Ah me, to-day! You passed inside
To where the marble gods abide:
Hermes, Apollo,
Sweet Aphrodite, Pan; and where,
For aye reclined, a headless fair
Beats all fairs hollow.
And I, I went upon my way,
Well—rather sadder, let us say;
The world looked flatter.
I had been sad enough before,
A little less, a little more,
What does it matter?
