SECOND NATURE.

WHEN I was young how fair the skies,

Such folly of cloud, such blue depths wise,

Such dews of morn, such calms of eve,

So many the lure and the reprieve —

Life seemed a toy to break and mend

And make a charm of in the end.

Then slowly all the dew dried up

And only dust lay in the cup;

And since, to slake his thirst, man must,

I sought a cup that had no dust,

And found it at the Goat and Vine —

Mingled of brandy, beer and wine.

The goat-cup, straight, drew down the skies

And lit them in lunatick wise:

What had been rose went scarlet red,

And the pearl tints grew like the dead.

And the fresh primrose of the morn

Was the wet red of rain-spoiled corn.

Now, with a head that aches and nods

I hold weak hands out to the gods;

And oh! forgiving gods and kind,

They give me healing to my mind,

And show me once again the lawn

Green and clear-gemmed with dews of dawn.

O gods, who look down from above

Upon our tangle of lust and love,

And, in your purity, perceive

The worth of what our follies leave:

Give us but this, and sink the rest —

To know that dew and dawn are best.