Piccadilly
PICCADILLY! Shops, palaces, bustle, and breeze,
The whirring of wheels, and the murmur of trees;
By night or by day, whether noisy or stilly,
Whatever my mood is, I love Piccadilly.
Wet nights, when the gas on the pavement is streaming,
And young Love is watching, and old Love is dreaming,
And Beauty is whirling to conquest, where shrilly
Cremona makes nimble thy toes, Piccadilly!
Bright days, when a stroll is my afternoon wont
And I meet all the people I do know, or don't:
Here is jolly old Brown, and his fair daughter Lillie --
No wonder, young Pilgrim, you like Piccadilly!
See yonder pair riding, how fondly they saunter,
She smiles on her poet, whose heart's in a canter!
Some envy her spouse, and some covet her filly,
He envies them both, -- he's an ass, Piccadilly!
Now were I such a bride, with a slave at my feet,
I would choose me a house in my favourite street;
Yes or no -- I would carry my point, willy-nilly:
If "no," -- pick a quarrel; if "yes" -- Piccadilly!
From Primrose balcony, long ages ago,
"Old Q." sat at gaze, -- who now passes below?
A frolicsome statesman, the Man of the Day,
A laughing philosopher, gallant and gay;
Never darling of fortune more manfully trod,
Full of years, full of fame, and the world at his nod,
Can the thought reach his heart, and then leave it more chilly --
Old P. or old Q., -- "I must quit Piccadilly?"
Life is chequer'd; a patchwork of smiles and of frowns;
We value its ups, let us muse on its downs;
There's a side that is bright, it will then turn us t'other,
One turn, if a good one, deserves yet another.
These downs are delightful, these ups are not hilly, --
Let us try one more turn ere we quit Piccadilly.
|
At her window
BEATING Heart! we come again Where my Love reposes;
This is Mabel's window-pane;
These are Mabel's roses.
Is she nested? Does she kneel
In the twilight stilly,
Lily clad from throat to heel,
She, my virgin Lily?
Soon the wan, the wistful stars, Fading, will forsake her;
Elves of light, on beamy bars,
Whisper then, and wake her.
Let this friendly pebble plead At her flowery grating;
If she hear me will she heed?
Mabel, I am waiting.
Mabel will be deck'd anon, Zoned in bride's apparel;
Happy zone! O hark to yon..." |
Our photographs
She play'd me false, but that's not why I haven't quite forgiven Di,
Although I've tried:
This curl was hers, so brown, so bright,
She gave it me one blissful night,
And -- more beside!
In photo we were group'd together;
She wore the darling hat and feather
That I adore;
In profile by her side I sat
Reading my poetry -- but that
She'd heard before.
Why, after all, Di threw me over I never knew, and can't discover,
Or even guess;
May be Smith's lyrics she decided
Were sweeter than the sweetest I did --
I acquiesce.
A week before their wedding day, When Smith was call'd in haste away
To join the Staff,
Di gave to him, with tearful mien,
Our only photograph. I've seen
That photograph.
I've seen it in Smith's album-book! Just think! her hat -- her tender look,
Are now that brute's!
Before she gave it, off she cut
My body, head, and lyrics, but
She was obliged, the little slut,
To leave my Boots."
I hope you enjoyed this sample of poetry from Frederick Locker-lampson! |
Rotten Row
I hope I'm fond of much that's good, As well as much that's gay;
I'd like the country if I could;
I love the Park in May:
And when I ride in Rotten Row,
I wonder why they call'd it so.
A lively scene on turf and road;
The crowd is bravely drest:
The Ladies' Mile has overflow'd,
The chairs are in request:
The nimble air, so soft, so clear,
Can hardly stir a ringlet here.
I'll halt beneath those pleasant trees, -- And drop my bridle-rein,
And, quite alone, indulge at ease
The philosophic vein:
I'll moralise on all I see --
Yes, it was all arranged for me!
Forsooth, and on a livelier spot The sunbeam never shines.
Fair ladies here can talk and trot
With statesmen and divines:
Could I have chosen, I'd have been
A Duke, a Beauty, or a Dean.
What grooms! What gallant gentlemen! What well-appointed hacks!
What glory in their pace, and then
What Beauty on their backs!
My Pegasus would never flag
If weighted as my Lady's nag.
But where is now the courtly troop That once rode laughing by?
I miss the curls of Cantelupe,
The laugh of Lady Di:
They all could laugh from night to morn,
And Time has laugh'd them all to scorn.
I then could frolic in the van With dukes and dandy earls;
Then I was thought a nice young man
By rather nice young girls!
I've half a mind to join Miss Browne,
And try one canter up and down.
Ah, no -- I'll linger here awhile, And dream of days of yore;
For me bright eyes have lost the smile,
The sunny smile they wore: --
Perhaps they say, what I'll allow,
That I'm not quite so handsome now." |
