THE RONDEAU

YOUR rondeau's tale must still be light —

No bugle-call to life's stern fight!

Rather a smiling interlude

Memorial to some transient mood

Of idle love and gala-night.

Its manner is the merest sleight

O’ hand; yet therein dwells its might,

For if the heavier touch intrude

Your rondeau's stale.

Fragrant and fragile, fleet and bright,

And wing'd with whim, it gleams in flight

Like April blossoms wind-pursued

Down aisles of tangled underwood;—

Nor be too serious when you write

Your rondeau's tail!