Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/483
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A HOT WIND REVERIE IN NOVEMBER.
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"Mandolina! Mandolina!"
When her house I reached, I cried;
"Pardon, dearest love!" she answered,
"I'm the Russian consul's bride!"
When her house I reached, I cried;
"Pardon, dearest love!" she answered,
"I'm the Russian consul's bride!"
Thus by Muscovite barbarian,
And by fate, my life was crossed,
Wonder ye I start at shadows?
Types of Mandolina lost.
And by fate, my life was crossed,
Wonder ye I start at shadows?
Types of Mandolina lost.
A Hot Wind Reverie in November.
The dust flies fast through the murky air,
The sun shines fierce with a lurid glare;
Where shall we fly to avoid the heat—
Where, oh where! drag our weary feet?
Where shall we lay the suffering head,
To shield ourselves from the rays so red?
This dust, this dust, this horrid dust,
'Twill choke us some day—it will and must.
The sun shines fierce with a lurid glare;
Where shall we fly to avoid the heat—
Where, oh where! drag our weary feet?
Where shall we lay the suffering head,
To shield ourselves from the rays so red?
This dust, this dust, this horrid dust,
'Twill choke us some day—it will and must.
When care or sorrow oppress the heart,
And its tendrils keen with anguish start,
Away—far away—let us swiftly flee
From the town in its depths of infamy—
Hiding ourselves in some shadowy nook,
With pencil to sketch, or pleasant book—
A "wee-tappit hen" from which to quaff
In foaming tankards shandy-gaff.
And its tendrils keen with anguish start,
Away—far away—let us swiftly flee
From the town in its depths of infamy—
Hiding ourselves in some shadowy nook,
With pencil to sketch, or pleasant book—
A "wee-tappit hen" from which to quaff
In foaming tankards shandy-gaff.
In some sylvan glade, by the Yarra's side,
Let us stretch our limbs in the fierce noontide,
Musing on days that are long gone by,
Ere we left our homes with purpose high—
Ere yet unravelled was Life's dark skein,
With its hope and sorrow, its joy and pain—
Mournful, we think of the friends afar,
And treat ourselves to a mild cigar.
Let us stretch our limbs in the fierce noontide,
Musing on days that are long gone by,
Ere we left our homes with purpose high—
Ere yet unravelled was Life's dark skein,
With its hope and sorrow, its joy and pain—
Mournful, we think of the friends afar,
And treat ourselves to a mild cigar.
There's one sweet face, with a laughing eye,
For ever pushes those fancies by;
There's a sunlit smile remembered well
As first on our vision its gladness fell—
For ever pushes those fancies by;
There's a sunlit smile remembered well
As first on our vision its gladness fell—
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