This page has been validated.
CHRISTMAS DAY, 1897
A filthy fog, foul-smelling, pungent, cold,
Clammy and greasy, eye-offending, thick;
A misery that must multiply tenfold
The sufferings of the homeless poor, the sick,
And all who in life's battle buffeted
Most need the ministration of the sun,
His light and heat benevolently shed,
Lest they by cold and hunger be undone:
A day to make the stoutest-hearted sad,
To overcast the merriest face with gloom,
To make alone the undertaker glad,
And an to ponder on the final doom:
Satan! henceforth your fuel spare in hell,
A London fog will serve your tun as well!
Clammy and greasy, eye-offending, thick;
A misery that must multiply tenfold
The sufferings of the homeless poor, the sick,
And all who in life's battle buffeted
Most need the ministration of the sun,
His light and heat benevolently shed,
Lest they by cold and hunger be undone:
A day to make the stoutest-hearted sad,
To overcast the merriest face with gloom,
To make alone the undertaker glad,
And an to ponder on the final doom:
Satan! henceforth your fuel spare in hell,
A London fog will serve your tun as well!
THEME FOR A DRAMA
Oh how dost thou my simple words distort
To meanings which were never in my mind,
And make my deeds with such suspicions sort
As naught bat mere perversity could find!
How far apart are we that live together,
What worlds removed in spirit and in aim!
Shackled by bonds worn willingly by neither
How every casual spark breaks forth to flame!
And yet we should not quarrel were love dead:
Some compensation in indifference lies,
For then we care not what is done or said,
And jealousy no trifle magnifies;
This is the hell of our unhappy fate—
That we at once each other love and hate.
To meanings which were never in my mind,
And make my deeds with such suspicions sort
As naught bat mere perversity could find!
How far apart are we that live together,
What worlds removed in spirit and in aim!
Shackled by bonds worn willingly by neither
How every casual spark breaks forth to flame!
And yet we should not quarrel were love dead:
Some compensation in indifference lies,
For then we care not what is done or said,
And jealousy no trifle magnifies;
This is the hell of our unhappy fate—
That we at once each other love and hate.
120
