SEA SPRAY &> SMOKE DRIFT 



But with song out of tune, sung to pass time, 

 Flung heedless to friends or to foes, 



Where the false notes that ring for the last time 

 May blend with some real ones, who knows? 



THE RACE 

 On the hill they are crowding together. 



In the stand they are crushing for room. 

 Like midge-flies they swarm on the heather, 



They gather like bees on the broom ; 

 They flutter like moths round a candle — 



Stale similes, granted, what then ? 

 I've got a stale subject to handle, 



A very stale stump of a pen. 



Hark ! the shufl^e of feet that are many, 



Of voices the many-tongued clang — 

 ** Has he had a bad night ? " '' Has he any 



Friends left?" — How I hate your turf slang! 

 'Tis stale to begin with, not witty, 



But dull and inclined to be coarse, 

 But bad men can't use (more's the pity) 



Good words when they slate a good horse. 



I/eu / Jieu ! qtiantus equis (that's Latin 



For ''bellows to mend " with the weeds), 



142 



