Page:The town down the river; a book of poems.djvu/65

 I think of him as I should think
 * Of one who for scant wages played,

And faintly, a flawed instrument
 * That fell while it was being made;

I think of him as one who fared,
 * Unfaltering and undeceived,

Amid mirages of renown
 * And urgings of the unachieved;

I think of him as one who gave
 * To Lingard leave to be amused,

And listened with a patient grace
 * That we, the wise ones, had refused;

I think of metres that he wrote
 * For Cubit, the ophidian guest:

"What Lilith, or Dark Lady". . . Well,
 * Time swallows Cubit with the rest.