“NEITHER!”

So ancient to myself I seem,

I might have crossed grave Styx's stream

A year ago;—

My word,‘ tis so;—

And now be wandering with my sires

In that rare world we wonder o'er,

Half disbelieve, and prize the more!

Yet spruce I am, and still can mix

My wits with all the sparkling tricks,

A youth and girl

At twenty's whirl

Play round each other's bosom fires,

On this brisk earth I once enjoyed:—

But now I'm otherwise employed!

Am I a thing without a name;

A sort of dummy in the game?

“Not young, not old:”

A world is told

Of misery in that lengthened phrase;

Yet, gad, although my coat be smooth,

My forehead's wrinkled,— that's the truth!

I hardly know which road to go.

With youth? Perhaps. With age? Oh no!

Well, then, with those

Who share my woes,

Doomed to mere fashionable ways,—

Fair matrons, cigarettes, and tea,

Sighs, mirrors, and society?

Is it a folly still to twirl,

And smirk and promenade and querl

About the town?

I'll put this down:

A man becomes downright blast

Before he knows that he is either

That, or what I am — call it, “Neither.”

Oh, for a hint what we shall do,

We bucks whose comedy is through!

Who'd be sedate?

And yet I hate

To pose persistently to-day

As one just trying flights, you know,

When I did try them long ago!

Suppose I hurry up the tide

Of age, and bravely drift beside

Those hoary dogs

Who lie like logs

Around the clubs where life is hushed?

My blood runs cold! What? Say farewell

To this year's new bewildering belle!

Hold, man, the secret broad and huge,

With every well-known subterfuge!

If bald and gray

And thin, still say

You're only thirty: do n't be crushed;

But when your voice shakes o'er a pun,

Be off to China:— your day's done!