XII
This is an effort of prophetic skill
Not passing range of human calculation.
A woman gets exactly what she will
If she keeps willing it sans divagation.
To have me secretly and altogether
Yours is your will — unless your kisses lied.
Sooner or later we shall slip the tether
And all the world before us deep and wide
Gape like the abyss, through which we fall to find
Strange equilibrium without support,
Strange rapture without sense, and void of mind
Strange ecstasies that mock the name of thought.
Sooner or later, Lola ! Circumstance
Bows before those who never miss a chance.
-- hy —-
XIII
This is enough to make a donkey laugh!
I talk like a Dutch uncle; and you listen
Like a man reading his own epitaph.
But, really! Truly ! How our glad eyes glisten !
How our hearts romp ! Whatever we may say,
Have never adoubt, Lord, that it’s all thanksgiving!
If Thou dost thus for people every day,
How very easy Thou must make a living !
We would be like Thee! if we had the power
We would fill all folk with supernal blisses,
Breed life's sweet briar to the tull June flower
And on their praises feed our proper kisses.
For as you said '’ However kind the gods are,
We could be kinder yet I think the odds are ”.