MEDITATIONS ON A HOLIDAY

‘ Tis May morning,

All-adorning,

No cloud warning

Of rain to-day.

Where shall I go to,

Go to, go to? -

Can I say No to

Lyonnesse-way?

Well — what reason

Now at this season

Is there for treason

To other shrines?

Tristram is not there,

Isolt forgot there,

New eras blot there

Sought-for signs!

Stratford-on-Avon -

Poesy-paven -

I'll find a haven

There, somehow! -

Nay — I'm but caught of

Dreams long thought of,

The Swan knows nought of

His Avon now!

What shall it be, then,

I go to see, then,

Under the plea, then,

Of votary?

I'll go to Lakeland,

Lakeland, Lakeland,

Certainly Lakeland

Let it be.

But — why to that place,

That place, that place,

Such a hard come-at place

Need I fare?

When its bard cheers no more,

Loves no more, fears no more,

Sees no more, hears no more

Anything there!

Ah, there is Scotland,

Burns's Scotland,

And Waverley's. To what land

Better can I hie? -

Yet — if no whit now

Feel those of it now -

Care not a bit now

For it — why I?

I'll seek a town street,

Aye, a brick-brown street,

Quite a tumbledown street,

Drawing no eyes.

For a Mary dwelt there,

And a Percy felt there

Heart of him melt there,

A Claire likewise.

Why incline to THAT city,

Such a city, THAT city,

Now a mud-bespat city! -

Care the lovers who

Now live and walk there,

Sit there and talk there,

Buy there, or hawk there,

Or wed, or woo?

Laughters in a volley

Greet so fond a folly

As nursing melancholy

In this and that spot,

Which, with most endeavour,

Those can visit never,

But for ever and ever

Will now know not!

If, on lawns Elysian,

With a broadened vision

And a faint derision

Conscious be they,

How they might reprove me

That these fancies move me,

Think they ill behoove me,

Smile, and say:

“What!— our hoar old houses,

Where the past dead-drowses,

Nor a child nor spouse is

Of our name at all?

Such abodes to care for,

Inquire about and bear for,

And suffer wear and tear for -

How weak of you and small!”