Verse and Worse

The buxom breeze, —
(Observe the epithet; an apt one, if you please.)
Down through the sober paven street,
Which, purged and sweet,
Gleams in the ambient deluge of the water-cart,
Bemused and blurred and pinkly lustrous, where
The blandest lion in Trafalgar Square
Seems but a part
Of the great continent of light, —
An attribute of the embittered night, —
How new, how naked and how clean!
Couchant, slow, shimmering, superb!
Constant to one environment, nor even seen
Pottering aimlessly along the kerb.
Lo!
On the pavement, one of those
Grim men who go down to the sea in ships,
Blaspheming, reeling in a foul ellipse,
Home to some tangled alley-bedside goes, —
Oozing and flushed, sharing his elemental mirth
With all the jocund undissembling earth;
Drooping his shameless nose,
Nor hitching up his drifting, shifting clothes.
And here is Piccadilly! Loudly dense,
Intractable, voluminous, immense!
(Dear, dear my heart's desire, can I be talking sense?)

BLUEBEARD

Yes, I am Bluebeard, and my name
Is one that children cannot stand;
Yet once I used to be so tame
I'd eat out of a person's hand;
So gentle was I wont to be,
A Curate might have played with me.

People accord me little praise,
Yet I am not the least alarming;
I can recall, in bygone days,
A maid once said she thought me charming.
She was my friend, – no more I vow, —
And – she's in an asylum now.

Girls used to clamour for my hand,
Girls I refused in simple dozens;
I said I'd be their brother, and
They promised they would be my cousins.
(One I accepted, – more or less, —
But I've forgotten her address.)

They worried me like anything
By their proposals ev'ry day;
Until at last I had to ring
The bell, and have them cleared away;
They longed to share my lofty rank,
Also my balance at the bank.

My hospitality to those
Whom I invite to come and stay
Is famed; my wine like water flows, —
Exactly like, some people say;
But this is mere impertinence
To one who never spares expense.

When through the streets I walk about,
My subjects stand and kiss their hands,
Raise a refined metallic shout,
Wave flags and warble tunes on bands;
While bunting hangs on ev'ry front, —
With my commands to let it bunt!

When I come home again, of course,
Retainers are employed to cheer,
My paid domestics get quite hoarse
Acclaiming me, and you can hear
The welkin ringing to the sky, —
Ay, ay, and let it welk, say I!

And yet, in spite of this, there are
Some persons who, at diff'rent times,
– (Because I am so popular) —
Accuse me of most awful crimes;
A girl once said I was a flirt!
Oh my! how the expression hurt!

I never flirted in the least,
Never for very long, I mean, —
Ask any lady (now deceased)
Who partner of my life has been; —
Oh well, of course, sometimes, perhaps,
I meet a girl, like other chaps, —

And, if I like her very much,
And if she cares for me a bit,
Where is the harm of look or touch,
If neither of us mentions it?
It isn't right, I don't suppose,
But no one's hurt if no one knows!

One should not break oneself too fast