POETRY: A Magazine of Verse
TO HIS LADY, PHILOSOPHY
I
The beautiful ladies of old time,
That walked like angels and were as fair,
Are dead and vanished, and no mans rhyme
Can paint them truly as once they were.
Like pale shadows in moonlight
Vanished they are upon strange ways,
Sudden as snow—Villon was right—
The beautiful ladies of old days.
But you stay always, you most dear;
Though the harlots come and the harlots go
Walking in pomp and in great show,
Still you are with me, still are here,
More faithful far in a thousand ways
Than the beautiful ladies of old days.
II
One thing I know most certainly—
You will not pester me nor chide
You will not quarrel much, nor be
Unkind, or hasty to deride
When I am stupid with my dreams.
You will not cackle much nor joke
When I am dazzled by the gleams
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