304 Ode to a Matron Pensioner. [MARCH, 



There was not a tooth in thy head, 



But that light shewed me 'twas not thine own ; 



Not a lock on thy forehead was spread, 

 But it proved on that spot 'twas not grown. 



I saw thee, the exquisite work 



Of the artist's most exquisite skill ; 

 Thy bosom from Madame de Yorke 



Thy visage from Monsieur de Ville. 



And I sighed as I saw the eve-star, 



That rose on a vision so sweet ; 

 And I scarcely had tuned my guitar, 



When I dropped on the floor at thy feet. 



I felt though the daylight was done, 



And twilight was veiling the grove 

 That thine eye to my eye was a sun, 



The sun of my soul and my love. 



And I sang, u Think'st thou absence will bring 



To the soul of thy lover relief? 

 Or Time, with its wide-waving wing, 



For a thousand years be not too brief? 



" Was it well that even Dukes should defraud 



My heart of thee, exquisite one ! 

 That a Marquis should lure thee abroad, 



Though thy husband of drones were the drone ?" 



The day died away on the breeze, 



The dew from the roses dropped round ; 



While I still sang the strain on my knees, 

 In the spells of thy beauty still bound. 



Montessu may dance light as an elf, 



Or Kariiel may ride a moon-beam ; 

 Yet where can I fly from myself? 



I care not one sixpence for them ! 



If I rush to the ultimate pole, 



The haunt of the fox and the bear. 



Still, still the thought withers my soul- 

 No Venus of fourscore is there ! 



If I lounge in the window at Long's, 



To sneer at the passing canaille, 

 I think of thy years and my wrongs, 



And feel like a leaf on the gale. 



1 sent away Zoe last week 



To-night I send off Stephanie ; 

 Then I'll go, and, like Byron, die Greek. 



Ah ! farewell, lovely Eighty-and-three ! 



