172 LAST AND LEAST OF THINGS 



He never could see the Rule of Three, 



But he knows a rule of thumb 

 Better than Euclid's, better than yours, 



Or the teachers' yet to come. 



He knows the smell of the hydromel 



As if two and two were five ; 

 And he hides it away for a year and a day 



In his own hexagonal hive. 



Out in the day, hap-hazard, alone, 



Booms the old vagrant hummer, 

 With only his whim to pilot him 



Through the splendid vast of summer. 



He steers and steers on the slant of the gale, 

 Like the fiend or Vanderdecken ; 



And there's never an unknown course to sail 

 But his crazy log can reckon. 



He drones along with his rough sea-song 



And the throat of a salty tar, 

 This devil-may-care, till he makes his lair 



By the light of a yellow star. 



He looks like a gentleman, lives like a lord, 



And works like a Trojan hero ; 

 Then loafs all winter upon his hoard, 



With the mercury at zero. 



BLISS CABMAN. 



