Page:Maurine and Other Poems (1910).pdf/24

 Replete with sunlight, crowned with amber haze, Followed by dark and desolate December, Through all the months of winter we remember.

The sun slipped westward. That peculiar change Which creeps into the air, and speaks of night While yet the day is full of golden light, We felt steal o’er us. Vivian broke the spell Of dream-fraught silence, throwing down his book: “Young ladies, please allow me to arrange These wraps about your shoulders. I know well The fickle nature of our atmosphere,— Her smile swift followed by a frown or tear,— And go prepared for changes. Now you look, Like—like—oh, where’s a pretty simile? Had you a pocket mirror here you’d see How well my native talent is displayed In shawling you. Red on the brunette maid; Blue on the blonde—and quite without design (Oh, where is that comparison of mine?) Well—like a June rose and a violet blue In one bouquet! I fancy that will do. And now I crave your patience and a boon, Which is to listen, while I read my rhyme, A floating fancy of the summer time. ’Tis neither witty, wonderful, nor wise, So listen kindly—but don’t criticise My maiden effort of the afternoon:

“If all the ships I have at sea Should come a-sailing home to me, Ah, well! the harbour could not hold So many sails as there would be If all my ships came in from sea.

“If half my ships came home from sea, And brought their precious freight to me, Ah, well! I should have wealth as great As any king who sits in state— So rich the treasures that would be In half my ships now out at sea.

“If just one ship I have at sea Should come a-sailing home to me, Ah, well! the storm-clouds then might frown: