MISCELLANEOUS

I sat with her, and spoke right goldenly

Of love and beauty, and because her hair

Brushed me, I plucked down Sirius like a pear,

To braid it, and had laughter for my fee;

Yea, suing her to heavier slavery.

Had all but plucked the fruitage of her lips,

When, lo! inked clouds and absolute eclipse,

Courteous, but unmistakable ennui.

Then did I mind me of the sorrow wailed

Thro’ poets’ books, and how the streaming torch

Of suns greater than Sirius has failed,

And as I shambled out the menial's door

I heard new feet sound in the statued porch

And salutations I had heard before.