酷兔英语

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My dismal sister! Couldst thou know
The wretched home thou keepest!

Thy brother, drowned in daily woe,
Is thankful when thou sleepest;

For if I laugh, however low,
When thou'rt awake, thou weepest!

I took my sister t'other day
(Excuse the slang expression)

To Sadler's Wells to see the play
In hopes the new impression

Might in her thoughts, from grave to gay
Effect some slight digression.

I asked three gay young dogs from town
To join us in our folly,

Whose mirth, I thought, might serve to drown
My sister's melancholy:

The lively Jones, the sportive Brown,
And Robinson the jolly.

The maid announced the meal in tones
That I myself had taught her,

Meant to allay my sister's moans
Like oil on troubled water:

I rushed to Jones, the lively Jones,
And begged him to escort her.

Vainly he strove, with ready wit,
To joke about the weather -

To ventilate the last 'ON DIT' -
To quote the price of leather -

She groaned "Here I and Sorrow sit:
Let us lament together!"

I urged "You're wasting time, you know:
Delay will spoil the venison."

"My heart is wasted with my woe!
There is no rest - in Venice, on

The Bridge of Sighs!" she quoted low
From Byron and from Tennyson.

I need not tell of soup and fish
In solemn silence swallowed,

The sobs that ushered in each dish,
And its departure followed,

Nor yet my suicidal wish
To BE the cheese I hollowed.

Some desperate attempts were made
To start a conversation;

"Madam," the sportive Brown essayed,
"Which kind of recreation,

Hunting or fishing, have you made
Your special occupation?"

Her lips curved downwards instantly,
As if of india-rubber.

"Hounds IN FULL CRY I like," said she:
(Oh how I longed to snub her!)

"Of fish, a whale's the one for me,
IT IS SO FULL OF BLUBBER!"

The night's performance was "King John."
"It's dull," she wept, "and so-so!"

Awhile I let her tears flow on,
She said they soothed her woe so!

At length the curtain rose upon
'Bombastes Furioso.'

In vain we roared; in vain we tried
To rouse her into laughter:

Her pensive glances wandered wide
From orchestra to rafter -

"TIER UPON TIER!" she said, and sighed;
And silence followed after.

A VALENTINE
[Sent to a friend who had complained that I was glad enough to see

him when he came, but didn't seem to miss him if he stayed away.]
And cannot pleasures, while they last,

Be actual unless, when past,
They leave us shuddering and aghast,

With anguish smarting?
And cannot friends be firm and fast,

And yet bear parting?
And must I then, at Friendship's call,

Calmly resign the little all
(Trifling, I grant, it is and small)

I have of gladness,
And lend my being to the thrall

Of gloom and sadness?
And think you that I should be dumb,

And full DOLORUM OMNIUM,
Excepting when YOU choose to come

And share my dinner?
At other times be sour and glum

And daily thinner?
Must he then only live to weep,

Who'd prove his friendship true and deep
By day a lonely shadow creep,

At night-time languish,
Oft raising in his broken sleep

The moan of anguish?
The lover, if for certain days

His fair one be denied his gaze,
Sinks not in grief and wild amaze,

But, wiser wooer,
He spends the time in writing lays,

And posts them to her.
And if the verse flow free and fast,

Till even the poet is aghast,
A touching Valentine at last

The post shall carry,
When thirteen days are gone and past

Of February.
Farewell, dear friend, and when we meet,

In desert waste or crowded street,
Perhaps before this week shall fleet,

Perhaps to-morrow.
I trust to find YOUR heart the seat

Of wasting sorrow.
THE THREE VOICES

The First Voice
HE trilled a carol fresh and free,

He laughed aloud for very glee:
There came a breeze from off the sea:

It passed athwart the glooming flat -
It fanned his forehead as he sat -

It lightly bore away his hat,
All to the feet of one who stood

Like maid enchanted in a wood,
Frowning as darkly as she could.

With huge umbrella, lank and brown,
Unerringly she pinned it down,

Right through the centre of the crown.
Then, with an aspect cold and grim,

Regardless of its battered rim,
She took it up and gave it him.

A while like one in dreams he stood,
Then faltered forth his gratitude

In words just short of being rude:
For it had lost its shape and shine,

And it had cost him four-and-nine,
And he was going out to dine.

"To dine!" she sneered in acid tone.
"To bend thy being to a bone

Clothed in a radiance not its own!"
The tear-drop trickled to his chin:

There was a meaning in her grin
That made him feel on fire within.

"Term it not 'radiance,'" said he:
"'Tis solid nutriment to me.

Dinner is Dinner: Tea is Tea."
And she "Yea so? Yet wherefore cease?

Let thy scant knowledge find increase.
Say 'Men are Men, and Geese are Geese.'"

He moaned: he knew not what to say.
The thought "That I could get away!"

Strove with the thought "But I must stay.
"To dine!" she shrieked in dragon-wrath.

"To swallow wines all foam and froth!
To simper at a table-cloth!

"Say, can thy noble spirit stoop
To join the gormandising troup

Who find a solace in the soup?
"Canst thou desire or pie or puff?

Thy well-bred manners were enough,
Without such gross material stuff."

"Yet well-bred men," he faintly said,
"Are not willing to be fed:

Nor are they well without the bread."
Her visage scorched him ere she spoke:

"There are," she said, "a kind of folk
Who have no horror of a joke.

"Such wretches live: they take their share
Of common earth and common air:

We come across them here and there:
"We grant them - there is no escape -

A sort of semi-human shape
Suggestive of the man-like Ape."

"In all such theories," said he,
"One fixed exception there must be.

That is, the Present Company."
Baffled, she gave a wolfish bark:

He, aiming blindly in the dark,
With random shaft had pierced the mark.

She felt that her defeat was plain,
Yet madly strove with might and main

To get the upper hand again.
Fixing her eyes upon the beach,

As though unconscious of his speech,
She said "Each gives to more than each."

He could not answer yea or nay:
He faltered "Gifts may pass away."

Yet knew not what he meant to say.
"If that be so," she straight replied,

"Each heart with each doth coincide.
What boots it? For the world is wide."

"The world is but a Thought," said he:
"The vast unfathomable sea

Is but a Notion - unto me."
And darkly fell her answer dread

Upon his unresisting head,
Like half a hundredweight of lead.

"The Good and Great must ever shun
That reckless and abandoned one

Who stoops to perpetrate a pun.
"The man that smokes - that reads the TIMES -

That goes to Christmas Pantomimes -
Is capable of ANY crimes!"

He felt it was his turn to speak,


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