416 MORE POT-POURRI 



Then suddenly again, ere well you knew, 



Love looked upon you tenderly, yet sad. 

 ' Are these wise follies, then, enough for you ? ' 



He said ; ' love's wisdom were itself less mad.' 

 And you : ' What wouldst thou of me ? ' 'My bare due, 



In token of what joys may yet be had.' 



III. 



Again Love left you. With appealing eyes 



You watched him go, and lips apart to speak. 

 He left you, and once more the sun did rise 



And the sun set, and week trod close on week 

 And month on month, till you had reached the goal 



Of forty years, and life's full waters grew 

 To bitterness and flooded all your soul, 



Making you loathe old things and pine for new. 

 And you into the wilderness had fled, 



And in your desolation loud did cry, 

 ' Oh for a hand to turn these stones to bread ! ' 



Then in your ear Love whispered scornfully, 

 ' Thou too, poor fool thou, even thou,' he said, 



' Shalt taste thy little honey ere thou die.' 



As grown-ups have such difficulty in understanding 

 children, so do men and women find it hard to under- 

 stand each other. Many a young husband, often ' one of 

 the best,' deeply wounds and pains his wife quite unin- 

 tentionally. It is a mistake to be too sensitive ; we must 

 take people as they are. To most men it will always be 

 as Coventry Patmore so prettily says : 



A woman is a foreign land, 



Of which, though there he settled young, 



A man will ne'er quite understand 

 The customs, politics, and tongue. 



Owen Meredith translates the same thought in the 

 reverse way, and with a more personal note, thus : 



Dearest, our love is perfect, as love goes ! 



Your kisses fill my frame and fire my blood ; 

 And nothing fails the sweetness each bestows 



Except the joy of being understood. 



