VIII — IN THE STUDY

He enters, and mute on the edge of a chair

Sits a thin-faced lady, a stranger there,

A type of decayed gentility;

And by some small signs he well can guess

That she comes to him almost breakfastless.

“I have called — I hope I do not err -

I am looking for a purchaser

Of some score volumes of the works

Of eminent divines I own, -

Left by my father — though it irks

My patience to offer them.” And she smiles

As if necessity were unknown;

“But the truth of it is that oftenwhiles

I have wished, as I am fond of art,

To make my rooms a little smart.”

And lightly still she laughs to him,

As if to sell were a mere gay whim,

And that, to be frank, Life were indeed

To her not vinegar and gall,

But fresh and honey-like; and Need

No household skeleton at all.