Forth from the dust and din, The crush, the heat, the many-spot… The odour and sense of life and lu… The wrangle and jangle of unrests, Let us take horse, Dear Heart, ta…

Blue-eyed and bright of face but w… Into the sere of virginal decay, I view her as she enters, day by d… As a sweet sunset almost overpast. Kindly and calm, patrician to the…

Fools may pine, and sots may swill… Cynics gibe, and prophets rail, Moralists may scourge and drill, Preachers prose, and fainthearts q… Let them whine, or threat, or wail…

The Artist muses at his ease, Contented that his work is done, And smiling-smiling!-as he sees His crowd collecting, one by one. Alas! his travail’s but begun!

Where forlorn sunsets flare and fa… On desolate sea and lonely sand, Out of the silence and the shade What is the voice of strange comma… Calling you still, as friend calls…

Hist? . . . Through the corridor’s echoes, Louder and nearer Comes a great shuffling of feet. Quick, every one of you,

I watched you saunter down the san… Serene and large, the golden weath… Flowed radiant round your peacock… And glistered from your jewelled h… Your tawny hair, turned strand on…

The big teetotum twirls, And epochs wax and wane As chance subsides or swirls; But of the loss and gain The sum is always plain.

the quiet skies: And from the west, Where the sun, his day’s work ende… Lingers as in content, There falls on the old, gray city

Kate-a-Whimsies, John-a-Dreams, Still debating, still delay, And the world’s a ghost that gleam… Wavers—vanishes away! We must live while live we can;

Time, the old humourist, has a tri… Of moving landmarks and of levelli… Till into Town the Suburbs edge t… And in the Suburbs you may scent… With Mount Street thus approachin…

St. Margaret’s bells, Quiring their innocent, old-world… Sing in the storied air, All rosy-and-golden, as with memor… Of woods at evensong, and sands an…

Like as a flamelet blanketed in sm… So through the anaesthetic shows m… So flashes and so fades my thought… With the strong stupor that I hea… And sicken at, it is so foully swe…

Do you remember That afternoon—that Sunday aftern… When, as the kirks were ringing in… And the grey city teemed With Sabbath feelings and aspects…

A DAINTY thing’s the Villanell… Sly, musical, a jewel in rhyme, It serves its purpose passing well… A double-clappered silver bell That must be made to clink in chim…